


Hellyoaks

by Rod



Series: Amy the Vampire Slayer [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Hollyoaks
Genre: Amy the Vampire Slayer, Crossover, Glossolalia, M/M, Minor Character Death, Soap Operas are Hell(mouths), Who is Conrad?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-18 07:27:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 102,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/877189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rod/pseuds/Rod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suppose the answer to the question "Why does so much bad stuff happen in Hollyoaks Village?" wasn't "because it's a soap opera."  Welcome to Chester, Xander.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Not mine. So there.
> 
> For those who know the Hollyoaks timeline, this takes place around Christmas 2007 with some slight tweaks.
> 
> There is in fact a third crossover in this mix, but since it doesn't poke its head above the parapet I haven't listed it. It will form an important part of the sequel, however.

Amy Barnes was getting close to thumping someone. She wasn't a violent person by nature, but today everything and everyone seemed to be going out of their way to aggravate her. Baby Leah had grizzled constantly throughout the day, teething again, and would only quieten down when in Amy's arms. Her boyfriend, Ste, was no use at all; sprawled in front of their TV with a can of beer, he seemed to think that heating up the beans on toast for their supper was the beginning and the end of his household duties. Amy's mother would have loved to help, but Amy wasn't stupid enough to let her in; coming round to "make sure that everything was OK for Christmas" was just her mother's way of snooping about to find something to 'prove' that the teenagers shouldn't be allowed to take care of a baby on their own. All in all, the only positive thing that Amy had to say for the day was that she didn't have any holiday homework to do.

Gritting her teeth against the headache that always seemed to be threatening her these last few days, Amy paced the living room, humming a lullaby as she rocked Leah to sleep. At least the evenings weren't so bad, she thought. If she could talk Nige, the world's most unwelcome house guest, into going out... but no. Nige was here because Ste couldn't say 'No' to him, and if Nige went out for a drink he was sure to want his 'best friend' with him. If Amy wanted Ste to herself, she was going to have to drag him into the bedroom and lock the door.

As if he'd heard her thinking, the ungentle sound of Nige's trumpet drifted out of the spare room. Leah started wailing as she jerked awake again, and frankly was more tuneful. Amy snapped.

"That's it," she said. "Here, take Leah. I'm going out."

Ste looked shocked to find his arms suddenly full of squalling baby. "What?" he whined. "You can't go out, we were going to—"

"Either I'm going out or I'm shoving that trumpet where the sun doesn't shine," Amy snarled. She slammed the door behind her hard enough to rattle the windows, never noticing how the look of surprise on Ste's face melted into fear.

The cool night air calmed her down quickly. Amy felt better just for being out of her little council flat, which she had to admit was just a little bit pathetic. All she needed was some time to herself, and she couldn't get it in her own home.

She wandered for a while near the centre of Hollyoaks village, no particular aim in mind. She didn't have the money to spare for a night on the town, so there was no point in trying to get into the clubs or pubs. Besides, she didn't want to have lots of people around her; what she really needed was peace and quiet, not a party hubbub. The exercise of the walking didn't hurt either.

She'd have to apologise to Ste for dumping Leah on him like that, she thought idly. Perhaps she could get Michaela to persuade Nige out on a date, she fancied him enough, and then Amy would have plenty of time to make Ste a very happy camper.

She'd actually got as far as getting her phone out to text Michaela and start plotting, when turning for home through one of Hollyoaks' narrow alleyways began to look like a big mistake. "Well, what've we got here?" a voice said from ahead of her.

Amy looked up to see a darkly dressed young man blocking the exit. He wasn't big, but he didn't have to be to tower over Amy. "I haven't got any money," she said, voice quivering. "It's not worth mugging me."

"I'm not looking for your money," the young man said smoothly, walking slowly towards her. "I'm much more interested in your... blood."

As he walked forward, the streetlights finally illuminated him properly. Amy stood in shock for a moment, staring at the deformed face and inhuman yellow eyes of her attacker. Then she made one of the most sensible decisions of her life.

She screamed and ran.

*******

As his taxi pulled up outside, Craig Dean looked at the _Dog in the Pond_ with mixed feelings. On the one hand, it was good to be home for Christmas. He'd got used to being at college in Dublin, but Hollyoaks, and this brightly-lit pub in particular, was where he really belonged.

On the other hand, things had been in a right old state when he left, and Craig wasn't entirely sure that he would be welcome home again. Wasn't really sure if this place was home any more.

He got out of the taxi, paid the driver, and spent a long moment studying the regulars on their ways in and out. "Come on," he said to himself eventually, "you can't chicken out of this." Reluctantly he shouldered his bag and made his way over to a side door. Inside, he went up the stairs into the flat that he hoped he could still call home. "Mum?" he called out, none too loudly. "Anybody here?"

A taller, broader, older version of himself walked into the living room. "Craig?" the man asked.

"Jake!" Craig dropped his bag and practically ran over to hug his big brother. "God, it's good to see you again."

"You too," Jake told him, smiling broadly. "Do you mind keeping it down a bit, I've just managed to get Charlie off to sleep."

Craig raised an eyebrow and grinned back. "Oh yes?" he said. "You're leaving the baby with Mum to get a romantic night out with Nancy then?"

Jake's smile suddenly became fixed. "Nancy and I've split up."

"Oh God, sorry. What happened?"

"Nothing happened," Jake insisted. "We just... she's smart, cultured, and needs to spend time with her friends who are all young enough to make me feel like their granddad. What does she need a useless lump like me for, reminding her of her dead sister with everything nice I try to do for her?"

"She broke up with you?" Craig asked, only belatedly remembering to keep his voice down. He frowned. If Nancy had just been toying with Jake, he was going to tear a strip off her. Especially after what she'd said about him.

"No! It just wasn't working, that's all. Better to end it now before we start hating each other. I just miss her, that's all."

"Yeah, I know that feeling," Craig said very softly. "So you're staying here, and leaving her with the flat?"

"It is her flat," Jake pointed out.

"Sorry, I guess I just got so used to you being there... Are you OK?"

Jake nodded. He studied his hands for a moment, then looked back at his brother with something closer to his normal smile. "That's more than enough of my troubles," he said. "How are things in Dublin?"

Craig smiled back. "A lot tougher than I expected," he said ruefully. "Suddenly I'm not the brightest guy around any more, and they really push us with all the course work." He hesitated. "You know, it's harder than I thought it would be living there. I miss this place." Not so much the place, he thought sadly, as the one who stayed behind.

"Still, you've made friends, haven't you?" Jake asked. "And your first phone call, Mum said something about you having a girlfriend already."

Craig's mouth went dry. Please, he thought, please let this not blow up again. "It didn't work," he said stiffly. "It was all wrong."

Jake shrugged. "Well, there's plenty more fish in the sea," he said. "A charmer like you, you'll have the girls throwing themselves at you."

"No, Jake, you're not listening." Craig felt his jaw clenching, and consciously took a breath to relax. It didn't help much. "It was all wrong," he repeated, emphasising each word.

"Huh? What are you talking about?" Jake looked confused, and a little bit angry. In denial, Craig thought; he recognised the look all too well from his mirror.

"I'm gay," he said, practically daring his brother to contradict him. "I tried making it work with my girlfriend, but I didn't... It was just all wrong."

There was a pause, and for a moment Craig allowed himself to hope.

"No," Jake said unsteadily, and Craig felt something inside shatter. "No, you like girls, you said it was just a phase, just him. You're my little brother, you're not sick like that. You're not some kind of disgusting pervert." His voice rose as he carried on, as if he could make what he said true if he shouted it loudly enough.

"Shut up!" Craig managed to keep his voice low but insistent. He could feel the situation slipping away from him, and anger warred with fear as he struggled to regain control. "God, if you're like this with me, what have you been like to John Paul?"

Jake went still, a dangerous light in his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was cold and deliberate. "We do not mention that filthy—"

"Don't talk about him like that!" The tattered remnants of Craig's self-control gave way, despite how scary Jake seemed. "What happened with us two, it was all my fault. All the sneaking around and lying to Sarah, it all happened because I was too scared to admit what I was... what I am. It wasn't his doing, none of it. Don't you dare blame him."

A thin wail filled the air as Charlie made his displeasure known from the nursery. "Now look what you've done," Jake said in the same cold, accusing tone he had used earlier. Somehow to Craig it was almost worse than if he'd shouted.

"Jake," he said, on the verge of tears, "I'm still me. I still—"

"Get out." Jake didn't raise his voice, but there was going to be no arguing with that coldness. "You aren't my brother. I don't know what you are any more, but I don't want you anywhere near my son. Get out of here and don't come back."

Craig tried to think of something, anything to say to make this better. Something that wasn't the lie he knew Jake wanted to hear. "I... no..."

"Out."

That was final. Craig fled down the stairs, heart aching with the loss of his family. Welcome back, Craig, he thought bitterly. Merry bloody Christmas.

******

Xander Harris was not having the best week of his life either. Not that it was anywhere near being the worst, but right at the moment he reckoned it was up there in the top ten most frustrating.

Xander had been only too glad to finish his tour of duty in Africa. At first having an entire continent as his responsibility had been a bit overwhelming, but he hadn't let it go to his head. After all, his total staff to start with had been himself, and he'd had to find Slayers in an awful lot of small communities that had never heard of English, never mind the wonders of modern plumbing. Ironically, what got to the Californian most was the heat, and by the end he had been overjoyed to flee from the un-air-conditioned interior of Africa to the chill of a British December.

Sadly, his English vacation hadn't lasted long. Xander and his brand new red, white and blue scarf had been summoned back to Watcher HQ, expecting to find some major panic on and a whole pile of girls wielding the biggest weaponry they could get away with. What he actually found was Giles clucking gently over the Council's finances, Andrew ruling the kitchen with an iron skillet, and a mildly worried Willow.

Willow had been working with the coven in Devon ever since she and Kennedy had got back from Brazil. They'd figured out how to use her connection to the Scythe to find Slayers more easily, and had been surprised to find new Slayers popping up well after Sunnydale sank. No one was quite sure whether this was the old story, a dying Slayer passing on the torch to girls who had been too young then — they'd never found a Slayer younger than eight, and most were teenaged or older when they were activated — or whether something else was happening.

Xander had listened as Willow happily told him all this in much longer words, worked out what she actually meant, and asked where he had to go and dig a new Slayer out of now.

Willow had looked a bit shocked. "Oh no, Xander," she'd said, "we have people to do that for you now." Which was good to hear in one way because frankly if Xander had to trek round Africa one more time he'd scream, but it made him wonder what the hell he was supposed to do any more. It wasn't as if the Council had an urgent need for construction engineers.

Willow had gone on to explain that she and the coven had gone magically hunting for trouble, again using longer words than Xander bothered to remember. Apparently with the right setup she could spot hellmouths, that was all he really needed to know. Willow had checked up on the ones they already knew about, and had then gone looking for other mystical trouble-spots. She had found something up in the North West of England, but it seemed to be too fuzzy to be your ordinary run-of-the-mill portal to Hell.

"We think it's some kind of baby hellmouth," Willow had said, "not doing the full-scale evil thing, but maybe working up to it some day. I was hoping you could go up there and scope it out for me."

"Me? Wouldn't it be faster for you to go there yourself? You're the one with the witchy radar to spot this stuff."

"Not while it's making with the fuzzy." Willow had looked most put out at that. "There could be a Slayer up there right now and I wouldn't know it unless I shook hands with her. If you sniff around and come up with some good pointers I can check them out, but I don't want to risk poking around with spells and maybe making things worse. Who knows, if I use too much magic around there I might actually turn it into a full-blown hellmouth, and that would be bad. Besides, I really need to stay here while Kennedy is recovering."

Xander had to admit that your girlfriend having been dead was pretty high on the list of family emergencies to have, so he couldn't really fault Willow for wanting to stick beside Kennedy until she was up and slaying again. Even so, he was about as useful for finding mystical stuff out as a banana, and he said as much.

Willow would have none of it, unfortunately. "You grew up on a hellmouth, Xander," she pointed out, "you know the sorts of things to look out for."

Which is how Xander had found himself renting a room in a guest house in Hollyoaks, a suburb of the not exactly throbbing metropolis of Chester that had little to recommend it beyond indoor toilets. While that was a great improvement on some of the places that Xander had been in the last year, it did otherwise seem pretty boring. It certainly wasn't letting him get any real Christmas shopping done, and not having gifts for Buffy and Willow was much more dangerous than not finding a mini-hellmouth as far as he was concerned.

Xander had done all the usual things, going through the records of deaths and old newspaper reports, and drawn a blank. There was some evidence of very low level vampire activity, maybe, but nothing that stood out at hellmouth levels. None of the reports of strange goings-on sounded like they were demonic in origin, or at least not with enough common patterns to start setting off alarms in Xander's head.

The only thing he had found out was that the social churn in the village was enormous; people got together and broke up even faster than at high school. They got married and divorced quickly, moved in and out on the flimsiest of excuses, broke and remade friendships like you wouldn't believe, and generally never seemed to give things a rest. At least according to the woman he shared a Strawberry Symphony smoothie with at the local open air juice bar, who wasn't necessarily the most reliable of witnesses. She was blond and beautiful, but made Harmony sound like a brain surgeon. She was also, Xander discovered in one of his less successful moments of the day, the girlfriend of the local policeman.

Still, the less evidence Xander found that anything out of the ordinary was going on, the more convinced he was that something really was wrong with the place. It was nothing he could put into words, just a vague and formless feeling that all wasn't well. That's why he had finally given in and used the most basic Scooby tactic of all; standing around at night looking tasty, and seeing what came after him.

So far the answer seemed to be a drunken, incomprehensible vagrant and a suspicious policeman. Xander was beginning to feel downright disappointed in England.

The moment he thought that, a scream pierced the night. Xander smiled. "At last," he said out loud, "something to do." He ran towards the noise, pulling a stake out from under his coat as he went.

A brunette teenager ran out of an alleyway ahead of him, screaming her head off. She was fast, but the vampire following her was faster and Xander realised with a sinking feeling that he wasn't going to get to her in time. Sure enough, moments later the vamp grabbed the girl by her arm, spinning her round. The girl went with the motion and nailed her attacker with a beautiful left hook, rocking him backwards.

"I was going to be nice and quick," the vampire said angrily, "but after that I'm going to make you hu—"

The words were cut off by a high kick to the chest, and Xander slowed down as the girl launched into a very familiar series of moves. He smiled again; Willow did love him enough to send a Slayer along. Not one of the girls he already knew, but that was a long shot anyway in Britain.

He wandered up, being sure to make plenty of noise so as not to startle his backup. "Hey, fang-face, I've got some ques— hey!" he yelled as the girl screamed again, grabbed the stake out of Xander's hand and rather messily staked the vamp.

Xander rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You know, the whole 'slay first and ask questions later' approach doesn't really work when you want to know the answers," he said.

The girl ignored him. Instead she stared at the drifting dust that moments before had been trying to drain her blood. "He... It... I didn't..." The stake slipped from her nerveless fingers and clattered on the pavement.

Xander revised his opinion hurriedly. "That was your first vampire, wasn't it?"

"Vampire?"

"Ooookay." He'd got a brand new Slayer on his hands, Xander realised. Fortunately he'd spent most of the last year trying to explain what was going on to girls who barely spoke English. This should be easy by comparison. "Yeah, that was a vampire. And you are a Vampire Slayer."

"I didn't mean to. You've got to believe me, I didn't mean to do that." The girl sounded scared now, which was fairly normal. Xander knew he had to talk quickly at this point; he didn't want her running off before he got all the information over.

"It's not what you did, it's what you are," he explained. "Have you noticed that lately you seem to be stronger than normal, maybe a lot stronger? Or that your friendly neighbourhood vamp there was giving you the wiggins before you even saw him?"

"No, that's not possible," the girl said desperately. "There's no such thing as vampires, not outside of movies."

"'Fraid not," Xander said. "You see, history is a whole bunch longer than they tell you in school..."

Fifteen minutes later, Xander was beginning to wish someone else had come across this particular Slayer. He had talked her through the basics, done some of the usual demonstrations (which did not involve throwing knives at people's heads any more, no matter what some of the more hide-bound old Watchers thought), and generally speaking got her to the edge of the Woods of Denial. Unfortunately that usually meant surviving the Plains of Anger before he could get to the Valley of Genuinely Useful Stuff, and Xander was rapidly discovering that this was much more aggravating when he could understand the girl and she didn't seem to have any settings below 'strident'.

"Why is this happening to me?" the girl demanded, looking ready to hit something. "Why does everything always happen to me? What did you have to go and pick me for?"

"I didn't pick you," Xander said patiently, keeping a tight rein on his own annoyance. He was the nearest something for her to hit, after all. "Nobody did. As far as we can tell, some girls are just born with the potential to become Slayers. A couple of years ago we changed the rules so that all the potentials who were old enough at the time became fully-fledged Slayers, but we don't know why potentials are still going active now. Given everything we thought we knew, it shouldn't have happened."

"So what, I'm supposed to go out and kill things that don't exist?" Xander had to admire the contempt the girl got into that sentence, even while she was half scared to death. She and Cordelia would have hated each other on sight. "What do you do," she continued, "stand around and pretend you know what's going on?"

"Nah, that's the old-school Watchers. These days we actually try to help out."

"Watchers? What are you talking about?"

"That would be what I am nowadays," Xander said with a sigh. "The Watchers' Council are a group that were supposed to be the backup for the Slayer. They used to sit around on their tweed-clad butts dispensing pearls of wisdom and generally trying to be controlling know-it-alls. Pretty much all of the council got, uh, compulsory retirement a bit before we changed the rules. Me and my friends have been putting things back together ever since, and we're more kind of hands-on help guys. We figure out what you're facing, tell you how to deal with it, and provide a distraction by getting beaten up by the bad guys."

"I'm seriously supposed to go out in secret and hunt monsters with a gung-ho American telling me what to do?" the girl demanded incredulously.

"Hey," Xander said, offended, "I am not gung-ho. These hos have never been gunged." He thought about it for a moment. "Concussed, but not gunged. I'm Xander Harris, by the way." He passed her one of the business cards all active Watchers were supposed to carry. Xander had a sneaking suspicion that his were spelled so that Willow could always tell where he was.

"Amy Barnes," the girl said, sounding slightly dazed again as she took the card. "You have business cards?"

"Yeah, I think it's screwy too, but Giles insisted. Oh, the bit about keeping it all secret?" Xander waited until Amy looked back up at him, wanting to be sure she actually took this in. "You ought to think about telling your parents."

"No." Amy's voice was flat and unequivocal.

"Seriously, it's a good thing to have them on your side and not—"

"No. You don't know my mother, she'd use this as an excuse to make them take away my baby."

"We've got legal... wait, did you say baby?"

"Yes."

Amy gave Xander a look that dared him to make something of it. Xander made something of it anyway. "A baby. How old are you?" he asked, slightly shakily.

"Old enough."

Xander doubted it, but the whole thing still had him shocked. "A Slayer with a baby. There's never... well, apart from Robin Wood, but he's hardly a poster-boy for the well-adjusted."

"What happened," Amy asked sarcastically, "did he try to take over the world?"

"Worse. He's a school principal." Xander shook his brain back into gear. Having to cope with a baby was not something on the normal curriculum at Slayer Central. Juggling schoolwork and over-protective parents with patrolling, that they had plenty of experience with. Whoever ended up as Amy's permanent Watcher was going to have a lot of babysitting to do. "This is going to be difficult," he admitted.

"I don't care," Amy said, sounding exactly like Buffy in one of her more stubborn moods. "I'm not giving up Leah, not for anyone."

Xander could tell that arguing wasn't going to do him any good, and didn't even bother trying. He'd long since learned that even when his girls were flat-out wrong, attempting to change their minds head-on just didn't work.

"I got that," he said seriously, "but it makes it all the more important that you have family or friends around to help. You're going to have to spend a lot of evenings going out patrolling, looking for trouble. That's all time that you'll need someone else taking care of the baby for you."

Amy looked torn. "I don't want my mother to know," she insisted.

"How about we compromise and tell your father?" Xander asked.

"He's going to go completely mad," Amy said after a moment.

Xander sighed. "They always do. Look, my best friend in high school was a Slayer, and we spent forever keeping it from her mum. When Joyce finally found out, she was mad that we'd hidden something that big from her, but afterwards she was the best support we could have asked for. Just think about it, that's all I'm asking."

Amy looked pensive. "I'll do that," she allowed eventually, "but don't expect any heart-warming reunions. My mum's a right nutter."

"OK," Xander said, hoping he'd understood that right. "Have you got a boyfriend?"

Amy thought about that long enough for Xander to come to his own conclusions. "I don't think I should tell him yet," she said.

Xander nodded. "He'll find out sooner or later, though, what with all the late nights and babysitting. I guess the question is, do you think he can cope, or are you going to have to dump him?"

"No, that's not the question," Amy said with a snort. "He'll cope, I just don't know what he'll do about it."

Xander raised an eyebrow, but she didn't elaborate. It didn't look like she'd elaborate if he asked outright, so he just made a mental note to find out what he could about this mysterious boyfriend for himself. As long as he didn't turn out to be a brooding two hundred and fifty year old vampire, things surely couldn't get too bad.

"Look," he said, "this is all going to take a lot more explaining and sorting out. Have you got a phone number I can call you on tomorrow? I've got to admit, I wasn't expecting to find a Slayer up here in the Frozen North, so I'm not really equipped for setting you up with slaying stuff." Amy rattled off her cellphone number, which Xander hastily scribbled down on an old grocery receipt, the first piece of paper to come to hand. "OK, got it." He gave Amy a long, sympathetic look. "I know this has been a lot to take in," he said, "so why don't you go home and sleep on it? I'll call you in the morning and we can sort out about telling your dad."

As he watched Amy walk back to a non-descript door in a non-descript block, Xander shook his head. A teenaged Slayer with a baby. Giles was going to go ape. No, he didn't envy whoever was going to end up as this girl's Watcher.

*****

Justin Burton pulled his coat tighter against the chill in the air and trudged on towards the pub. He wasn't really in the mood for socialising, not that anyone did more than tolerate him, and not that he could really blame them for that. Still, there was only so long he could spend moping in front of someone else's TV when any other teenager — say, one who wasn't flat broke — would be out on the town.

There was always a chance he wouldn't get served at the _Dog_ , but the alternatives were going to the _SU Bar_ , where there was altogether too much chance of meeting people he really couldn't cope with seeing right now, or up to the _Loft_ , which was out. Warren had only been civil to Justin because Warren's sister Katie was going out with him. Now that they weren't a couple, there was every chance that the _Loft_ would hold not just painful memories for Justin, but actual physical pain.

He had almost reached his destination when a dark figure cannoned into him, knocking them both flying. Justin reached for a nearby post to steady himself, but just succeeded in tangling himself further and swinging both of them out over the fence guarding the shallow river in front of the pub. He only had time to yell "Oh crap!" before his fingers lost their grip on the cold metal and the pair of them fell into the water.

Justin stood slowly, the cold water doing nothing to improve his temper. "Thanks," he said angrily, "a cold bath was exactly what I needed. Why can't you watch where you're going?"

The figure sitting waist-deep in the water in front of him curled up and hugged his knees. Except for the way his shoulders were shaking, it almost looked like he expected Justin to beat him up. Which he would if the bastard was laughing, Justin thought angrily.

It took a moment for the muffled sobs to penetrate, then Justin's shoulders slumped as he mentally gave himself a kick in the arse. Typical. He'd wallowed in his own misery, and once again someone else ended up getting hurt for it. Would he never learn?

"Come on," he said more gently, "let's get you up and out of here. It's not exactly the weather for swimming."

It took quite a lot of effort and most of Justin's patience to get the unresisting but unhelpful figure out of the water. Justin's heart sank when he saw that it was Craig Dean he was dragging to his feet. Somehow it always came back to the Deans with him. This time no doubt Craig would end up dying of pneumonia, and of course Justin would be the one to blame.

Craig baulked when Justin tried to lead him back into the _Dog_. "No," he said, "I can't."

Justin gritted his teeth. "You need to get out of those wet clothes before you catch something," he said, none too pleased at being soaked himself.

"I said I can't," Craig insisted. "Jake... I've been thrown out."

Justin winced. He'd heard about the bust-up between Craig and his family when the whole sorry business between Craig and John Paul had exploded on them. Somehow he wasn't surprised to find that they were still holding that particular grudge, even though they papered over it in public while Craig was away at college.

"All right," he sighed and turned them around. "But if I get complaints about water on the carpet, I'm blaming you."

It was a good thing that the weather had turned mild, Justin thought. By the time they squelched across to the Valentines' house, his hands were numb enough that getting the key in the door was difficult. If the temperature had been anywhere near freezing, he'd have braved Jake's anger rather than walk that far.

Cold as Justin was, Craig seemed to be worse. He was shivering by the time they got inside, and Justin was beginning to worry that there really was something wrong with him. Bugger it, he thought, if Calvin wanted to complain about them making a mess of the carpet then he'd just have to apologise. Craig didn't seem to be up to Justin trying anything fancy. He towed Craig upstairs to the bathroom, heedless of their muddy footprints.

"You warm yourself up in the shower," he told Craig, "and I'll sort out something dry to wear." Shutting the door, he waited until he heard the shower start before heading back downstairs.

It was a pain they had the house to themselves, he thought, leaving his trainers near the front door. Danny, Calvin or even Leo got on reasonably well with nearly everyone, and Justin had first-hand knowledge of how well they put up with a teenager in a funk. OK, so Leo's contribution would have been to make them coffee before fleeing and letting his sons do all the hard work... but actually coffee sounded like a really good idea right then.

Justin went back through to the kitchen area, stripping his socks off as he went. Turning the kettle on, he tossed the socks into the washing machine, pulled out a couple of mugs and spooned instant coffee into them. Then because it was a Leo-ish kind of thing to do, he hunted round in the cupboards until he found the bottle of scotch Calvin didn't think the rest of them knew about and added it to his coffee. It tasted good, so he poured some into Craig's coffee too. Craig probably needed it more than he did.

Slowly, Justin started to relax. As much as he could with clammy clothing, at least. He'd intended to wait until Craig was finished in the shower, but he was beginning to find the dampness just too unpleasant. Quickly he stripped off, threw the wet clothes into the washing machine, and wrapped himself in a towel he liberated from the dryer. Then he rummaged through his duffel bag for some clean clothes — and, he thought belatedly, something for Craig too. Fortunately he seemed to be a little bigger than Craig, so his shirts, boxers and jeans should fit well enough.

Downing the rest of his coffee, Justin made his way back upstairs with armfuls of clothing for the pair of them. Sounds of showering had ceased, so he knocked on the bathroom door. "Craig? I've got some clean clothes here, I think they'll fit you."

The door opened, and Craig stood there, still damp from the shower with a towel of his own wrapped round his waist. He grabbed the proffered clothes and closed the door again with a muttered "Thanks" just as the tiny voice in the back of Justin's head that was afraid of everything started screaming that he was standing within arm's reach of someone he knew was gay, and both of them were wearing nothing more than towels.

Justin slumped against the wall and had a mini panic attack. Nothing had happened, and it hadn't even occurred to him that anything might happen until after it hadn't happened. It was just that he had briefly had Craig Dean standing in front of him, the odd drop of water still beading his chest, and now his body wanted to know whether it was time to beat something senseless or run away screaming.

It took him a minute or two to get his heart rate and breathing back under control. He was more or less upright again, albeit holding his clean clothes defensively in front of him with one hand and gripping his towel tightly with the other, when the bathroom door opened and Craig walked out. It was weird seeing Craig wearing his clothes, Justin thought, and clamped down as the tiny voice in his head started to have hysterics about that too. "There's a coffee on the kitchen table for you," he said quickly, pushing past Craig. "Shove your wet stuff in the washing machine. I won't be long."

Stepping under the shower, Justin quietly called himself fifteen kinds of fool. He wasn't homophobic, damn it. He particularly wasn't the kind of irrational, vicious bigot he knew Jake could be. He had hung around with John Paul often enough to know he didn't have a problem with him, and that John Paul wasn't going to jump him any more than he was going to jump any random girl who walked past. It was just Craig being that close (and that naked, the tiny voice squeaked) that caught him by surprise.

Rationally, there wasn't a problem. After all, a few minutes ago Craig had been standing right here where Justin was without even the towel, and that wasn't an issue. Reaching for the soap, Justin turned that idea about in his mind and was surprised at how little it disturbed him given his earlier panic. Picturing Craig in the shower, warming himself back up after their ducking, that was just something normal really. Maybe it was because there were enough people living in the house that you had to plan your shower time and hope the girls hadn't used up all the hot water, but the thought didn't shake Justin up at all. Now if Craig was in the shower with him, then words would have to be said.

Justin laughed to himself. Words would have to be said, and in the Valentine household those words would probably be "Bugger off, it's my turn."

Clean, dry and dressed, Justin padded back downstairs barefoot, determined not to do any freaking out in front of Craig. From the state he'd been in when they'd met, that was the last thing Craig needed.

Craig was indeed sat on the sofa, staring moodily at the switched off TV when Justin found him. His hands were wrapped around his coffee mug, and the whisky bottle was sitting in front of him on the coffee table. Back in the kitchen area, the washing machine was chugging away. Justin considered the scene for a moment, then eased himself onto the sofa beside Craig.

"You're living here?" Craig asked before Justin could say anything.

"For now," Justin said. He reached for the whisky bottle.

"I thought you were with Katie."

"I was."

"Oh."

'Oh' was right, Justin thought bitterly, managing not to cough as the whisky burned its way down his throat. When he and Katie had fallen apart again, Warren couldn't kick him out fast enough. And like always, he had come running to Calvin, because PC Calvin Valentine would do anything to spite shady Warren Fox. And yes, being a pawn in the game those two played with each other didn't do wonders for his ego, but even Justin had to admit that his ego had earned a serious kicking in the last year.

"Is that why you're doing this?" Craig asked.

"Huh?"

Craig gestured vaguely at the lack of distance between them. "We aren't friends," he said, "so what are you being nice to me for?"

'Not friends' was the understatement of the century, Justin thought. Craig and his family hated him, and they had good reason to, so Craig had every right to be suspicious about his motives. Unless Craig thought... "I'm not coming on to you," Justin said quickly, mildly pleased that the little voice in the back of his head seemed to have got the message now. "You just needed a hand, and I didn't have anything better to do."

There was silence between them for a moment. Craig finished up his coffee and set the mug down on the table. He sighed morosely.

"Want to talk about it?" Justin asked, belatedly realising how cold he'd just sounded.

"No," Craig said shortly, and grabbed the bottle from him. Justin watched him swallow a large mouthful, nearly choking as the kick of it hit. His jaw was set, and his angry glare seemed to be trying to burn a hole in the TV. Justin hoped that was a good sign. At least Craig wasn't crying all over him still. Anger he could cope with, admittedly by running away most of the time, but the mushy sensitive stuff he didn't have a clue about.

"I mean, where does he get off saying things like that?" Craig said suddenly. Justin kept his mouth shut, just quietly reacquiring the bottle. "All that stuff he was coming out with about me being disgusting... I'm not like that. I've never been like that. I mean, I'm still me, aren't I? I'm still his brother, I haven't changed, not really?"

He turned to look at Justin, and suddenly Justin understood. Craig's world was falling apart just like Justin's had when he'd discovered about his dad's suicide. Nothing was solid any more, he couldn't even trust his family. He hoped Craig hadn't done anything stupid in Dublin.

"No," he said quietly, "you haven't changed. Not in the way he means anyway." Mouth dry, he took a quick sip and passed the bottle back.

"What do you mean?" Craig asked, sounding uncertain despite his anger of moments earlier.

"You're still you." Justin stood and paced, trying to sort it out a bit in his own head. "You just know a bit more about who you are, and it's not what he thought. It's like he's got this picture in his head of you, and it turns out it's not the right picture. That's his problem, not yours."

Craig nodded, but Justin wasn't done yet. "You have changed, though. You don't do or say the same things you used to, but that's a good thing. I mean, you've kind of had to change your mind about all this gay business, haven't you?"

Craig's face hardened. "I don't—"

"Oh come on," Justin interrupted, "your entire family goes rabid if it's ever mentioned. You can't not have used to think that way." He paused. "I think that made sense."

Craig passed him the depleted bottle. "I know what you mean," he said, looking at his hands. Then he gave a bitter little laugh. "It's funny, you've changed too; last year I'd have expected you to leave me in the river. Maybe you never did fit my picture of you."

Justin thought of Becca, and had to take a big swig of the whisky. He sat down on the floor, leaning against the sofa; he didn't reckon he deserved to be on the same level as Craig while they talked about this.

"I probably did," he said, not daring to look over. What he'd done to Craig's sister-in-law... "I was stupid. I still am stupid, that's probably why I mess things up so much, and I got angry and I wanted to hurt her as much as she hurt me, and I never learn. I never bloody learn. Becca died because of my stupid wounded pride, and I still keep doing the same things."

Craig leaned over and took the bottle. He settled lengthwise on the sofa, leaving one hand on Justin's shoulder. "And no one hears when you say sorry, do they?" he asked. Justin looked round, not quite believing what he was hearing. Only Jake had more reason to hate him than Craig did, yet here was Craig with concern and sympathy that Justin knew he didn't deserve.

"Becca died trying to stop a fight," Craig continued. "That wasn't your fault."

"It's my fault she was there," Justin retorted. "It's my fault she was in prison."

"And you admitted it, and she was getting out. Just a few more days and she'd have been out of there."

There was a moment of quiet as Justin reclaimed the bottle. "Why did she have to do it?" he asked around the lump in his throat. "Just a few more days..."

"It's who she was," Craig said. "When she saw someone in trouble, she had to help." He seemed to study Justin for a long while, then rolled onto his back. "You really loved her, didn't you?" he asked the ceiling.

Justin nodded. Then he coughed to clear his throat, because Craig wasn't looking at him and he didn't trust his voice to work properly. "Yeah," he said.

Craig's hand that was still resting on his shoulder gave him a comforting squeeze. Justin looked round far enough to see Craig's bare feet rubbing on the opposite arm of the sofa. "How's John Paul?" Craig asked out of the blue.

"He's OK, getting used to student life," Justin told him. He smiled. "He was a real friend to Katie when she started college, and he was cool about me trying to get back together with her. He didn't help or anything, but he did let me have the chance to talk to her. He didn't have to do that."

Craig smiled a little. "That's John Paul, always trying to do the right thing." There was a pause, then very quietly he asked, "Is he with anyone?"

Justin frowned. "There are rumours about him and the Welsh geek, whatsisname, Elliot, but I don't believe it," he said. Then it belatedly dawned on him what Craig was actually asking. "He took it hard, breaking up with you. Maybe he does... I don't know." He twisted to look up at Craig. "You still love him, don't you?"

"Yeah." Craig was still staring at the ceiling, and as Justin watched a tear started rolling down his face. "It really hurt, you know, when he left me at the airport."

Justin thought of Becca walking away from him. "Yeah," he said, and squeezed Craig's hand.

Craig sniffed, wiped the tear away and stretched out as best he could on the sofa. "Funny," he said tiredly, "I never expected you'd be the one to understand."

"Me either," Justin said. Then he frowned; some time in the last couple of minutes he'd lost the whisky bottle. He recovered it from Craig, only to discover it was empty. "Hey, you killed the bottle," he said mildly.

"Get another one?"

"Too tired."

"Lightweight," Craig said, but he didn't move other than to make himself more comfortable.

Justin's attempt to good-naturedly give him the finger ran into an unexpected difficulty. It took him a moment to realise that Craig was holding his hand now, and another while to think about what that might mean. "You know I'm straight, right?"

"Mm," Craig said, all but asleep. "Shame, you've got a nice bum." He let go, not that he'd exactly been gripping tightly before.

Justin was surprised to find that he missed the contact. It was kind of nice having Craig as a friend, even if it was only because he was drunk and depressed. Mind you, Justin was drunk and depressed too, which probably had a lot to do with the whole being nice. He was even drunk enough to admit that Craig was pretty attractive without having a screaming fit about his manliness afterwards.

Craig was also asleep, he realised. On the sofa that Justin was supposed to be kipping down on. He really ought to wake him up and pack him off home, where Frankie was probably worrying about her youngest. But that would mean moving, and Justin was comfortable here, and anyway he really didn't like Frankie any more than she liked him.

To hell with it, Justin thought sleepily as he stretched himself full length in front of the sofa. Somebody else could deal with her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xander meets the parents, Justin and Kris confuse John Paul, and Ste and Jake make some bad calls.

"What have you done to my daughter?"

Xander stepped back rapidly, as much as he could in the tiny laundrette. This wasn't what he'd had in mind when he'd told Amy that they should talk to her father, but somehow it hadn't dawned on him in all their conversation the previous night that Amy didn't live with her parents any more. As far as he could tell the British didn't make a habit of letting schoolgirls walk out on their parents, which only went to show in Xander's mind that something at least a bit hellmouthy was going on.

So here they were in the laundrette Amy's father ran rather than safely away from public view at home, and so far Xander was finding that talking a Slayer's parents round seemed to be harder when they theoretically spoke the same language as you. It had been easy to demonstrate that Amy was a lot stronger than she used to be — lifting one of the small washing machines and moving the short distance its hoses would allow was pretty impressive even from Xander's point of view — but that didn't make it any easier to deal with an angry and protective father.

"I haven't done anything," he said quickly, holding up his hands in surrender. He thought for a moment. "We haven't done anything," he amended. "We don't know what chooses girls to become Slayers, or how it's done. We know some bits and pieces, but for the rest, all we can do is chalk it up to the Powers That Be."

"Well, you can tell these Powers That Be that they can't have her," Mike Barnes snarled.

Xander could see where Amy got her temper from. "Don't think we haven't tried," he said sympathetically. "Whatever they are, they don't seem to care what we mere mortals think about it."

"Look, Dad," Amy said, making an obvious effort to sound reasonable, "it's not like we've got any choice in the matter. We've just got to find a way to live with it."

"You're my little girl, Ames. How am I supposed to live with you putting yourself in danger?"

"By being there for her," Xander said quickly. "My best friend in high school was the Slayer, back when she was the _one_ girl in all the world. It made a huge difference for her once her mother knew."

"She's sixteen! She can't go out getting into fights with... with things that don't exist!"

"Dad! I can make my own decisions, thank you."

Xander winced. He should have expected that; none of the Slayers he knew had 'tact' anywhere in their vocabulary. "Trouble is going to come looking for Amy now," he said more soothingly. "I guess the question is, are you going to help her be ready for it?"

"And I'm supposed to believe that these vampires are real?"

Xander looked at Amy. Amy sighed. "I met one last night, Dad. At least, I met something that turned into dust when it died."

Mike stared at his daughter for a moment, then looked imploringly at Xander. Xander recognised the face of a parent having his world ripped out from under him.

"It's true," he said. "When I met her last night, she was running away from a vamp. It caught up with her, and she turned around and beat the unliving crap out of it. Even grabbed the stake out of my hand to kill it, which by the way we are going to have words about later, young lady."

Mike turned back to his daughter. "Is this true, Amy? Did you... did you kill someone?"

Amy didn't seem to know how to answer that, so Xander answered for her. "It was kill or be killed, Mr Barnes," he said gently. "If Amy hadn't fought back, he would have ripped her throat out and drained her dry."

"Did you have to kill him? You were there too," Mike said to Xander, "couldn't the pair of you have made him run away or something?"

"So that he could have found someone easier to deal with?" Amy asked. "What if the next person he'd met had been you, or Mum?"

"You don't know that he would have—"

"Yes, we do," Xander interrupted quickly, his voice flat and level. "Vampires have to drink blood to live, and they like it straight from the vein. We're just meals on legs to them; if that one had met you last night, you'd be dead. Or worse, it might have made you drink some of its blood as it drained you, and then there'd be a new vampire walking around in your body, getting close to the people you love and killing them for its next meal."

There was silence for a moment. Mike looked shocked as the full horror of what Xander was saying dawned on him, and Xander couldn't honestly blame the man when he closed his eyes and started shaking his head. "No," Mike said brokenly, "this can't be happening. Not after all we've been through."

Amy put a hand on her father's shoulder. "We'll be alright, Dad. This isn't something that we can change, just like Leah wasn't something we could change. You know how much she means to us; maybe all of this will turn out to be good for us too."

"And it's not like you'll be alone," Xander chipped in. "Now that there are lots of Slayers, we try not to let any of our girls be the only Slayer in town. I've put the word in, and we should have some backup for you before long." But not soon either, Xander didn't say. Giles had sounded very distracted on the phone, and Xander didn't rate his chances of getting any of the girls out of London before the Christmas sales were over. "At worst, help is only a phone call and a couple of hours away."

"I don't know," Mike sighed wearily. "This is too much for me. You're asking me to take an awful lot on trust here."

Xander nodded. "I didn't believe it either the first time I heard about it. Then..." He paused, pushing down the memories of Jesse that still hurt, even after all these years. "Then I kinda had to."

Mike looked narrowly at Xander, then at his hopeful-looking daughter. "You're going to do this anyway," he said tiredly, "what difference does it make what I say?"

"Dad!" Amy exclaimed. "I wouldn't..." She trailed off as her father just looked at her sadly.

"Knowing that you're there for her when she really needs you," Xander told him, "that makes all the difference in the world." There were times he had really envied Buffy for having a mother who actually cared about her. He wasn't going to let any girl he Watched lose that if he could help it.

Mike shook his head again helplessly, looking at his hands. "Alright," he said finally, and was nearly bowled over as Amy jumped up and hugged him.

"Oh Dad," she said, "you're the best."

"Don't squeeze so hard," Xander advised her as Mike started turning red.

Amy's eyes widened comically. She let go of her father so suddenly that he almost fell over. "Oh God, Dad, I'm really, really sorry."

Xander managed not to laugh, while he made sure she hadn't cracked any ribs. "You'll get used to it," he told her. "Give it a day or so and you won't even have to think about being careful any more." That seemed to be the way with all the Slayers he'd ever met, anyway.

Amy apologised again and hugged Mike so cautiously that Xander had to bite his cheek. "I'm sorry," she said again. "Please don't tell Mum."

"Don't worry, love," Mike said dryly, "I won't mention you nearly squeezing the life out of me. Though what she's going to make of all this I don't know."

"No, I mean it, Dad," Amy said seriously. "Don't tell Mum about any of this. You know exactly what she'd do."

Mike looked across to Xander, who held up his hands. "Hey, don't look at me, I've already lost this argument once."

"I don't like keeping secrets from your mother," Mike said sternly.

"Fine," Amy told him scornfully. "Are you going to stop her from calling Social Services and telling them I've gone mad and I'm a danger to Leah? Because you know that's what she'll do if she thinks there's any chance she can get Leah back."

Xander kept well out of the way as father and daughter stared at each other. Given that Amy seemed to be every bit as stubborn as any of the Summers women, he had little doubt how it would end, and saying anything at this point was just asking for trouble.

As he expected, Mike was the one to look away. "Alright," Mike said, "we'll do it your way. I won't tell your Mum, but you know she's going to find out sooner or later."

"Just as long as it's later," Amy said firmly.

*****

Josh Ashworth stood at door of his family's shop and watched with concern as Amy walked away across the street. The fact that she was walking away wasn't the problem — well, no, it was the problem, it just wasn't all of the problem. Josh still couldn't really get his head around the idea that his former girlfriend had picked Ste over him. Ste of all people! He'd nearly killed Amy when he took her joyriding, he'd been sent to a detention centre for it, and he'd come back the same nasty, unreliable bully that he'd always been. He practically boasted that he was just with Amy because of all the benefits they could get for Leah from Social Services. How Amy couldn't see what he was doing was beyond Josh.

To add insult to injury, all of Ste's "old friends" were turning up and using Amy's council flat as their base, and Josh was pretty sure that all of them were up to something illegal. Take Nige for example; Josh didn't know what he was up to, just that he treated pretty much everything as his personal property. He'd crashed into Josh's band, _The Baby Diegos_ , and pretty much taken it over despite the fact that he couldn't play a recognisable tune on his trumpet. He intimidated the hell out of Josh, and that couldn't be a good sign.

Now here was Amy with someone else Ste must have dragged home. An older man this time, and again Josh reckoned that nothing good could come from anyone that old who still hung around with Ste. He had an eye-patch over his left eye, and enough layers of clothes despite the mildness of the December day to make him look like some sort of pirate eskimo. If that didn't scream 'suspicious', Josh reckoned, nothing did. Yet Amy was walking off with him as if hanging out with total strangers Ste introduced her to was perfectly safe. Josh loved her dearly, but sometimes...

No, this time he wasn't going to let Amy walk into trouble yet again, not on her own. "I'm going out for a bit," he called back into the shop, "I won't be long." There was no reply, not that he expected one; his older brother had spent all morning glaring at his precious half-sister for daring to have a boyfriend, and didn't seem like he was going to get over it any time soon.

Rhys didn't pay any attention to him at the best of times, so Josh just slipped out of the _Drive 'N Buy_ and made his way across the street. Following Amy around couldn't be all that difficult, he reckoned, not when he knew both Hollyoaks village and the places Amy liked to go when she didn't want to be found.

Her new 'friend' seemed to be doing all the talking as they went, Josh noticed. He hung back, letting them get well ahead; they seemed to be heading towards the park, and Josh had watched enough James Bond films to know that he'd be spotted if he got too close. As long as he was close enough to see if they actually turned into the park gate... and there they went.

Inside the park, Josh realised he had a whole different problem. There was a lot of open space, and not all that many people out in the wintry sunshine. Unless he got lucky, Josh didn't think there was any chance that he wouldn't be noticed. Well then, he thought, time for a different tactic. If he was going to be seen, he might as well walk straight up to Amy and demand to know what was going on. Since they were out in the open, it wasn't like the pirate-wannabe could do anything to him.

Josh had taken all of five paces towards where Amy and her friend were walking along when someone grabbed his arm and spun him round. Josh found himself face to face with the strangest, scariest man he had ever come across. Wild, staring eyes bored into him from an unshaven, stubbly face. He was wearing a greatcoat that had seen better days over clothing that had seen better years and a dirty, disintegrating pair of trainers.

"Fluid haddock-rack," the tramp said insistently.

"I'm sorry, I don't speak Welsh," Josh said, terrified. It was the first thing that popped into his head, well ahead of more sensible ideas like screaming his head off.

The man rolled his eyes. "Of the interstitial armour," he said, waving a finger at Josh. "Ultimate walking died in blue cloth. Egad!" He pointed vaguely upwards, then looked at his finger in apparent annoyance. "Mountain," he muttered.

Bonkers, Josh thought. The guy was absolutely and utterly off his trolley. He tried to pull away, but the tramp had a firm grip on his arm. "Get off me!" he yelled, looking around for help. Strangely no one so much as looked around, not even Amy.

"Are my getting," the tramp said soothingly.

It didn't soothe Josh at all. "Look," he said desperately, "I don't understand a word you're saying."

"Masticate wild in wrongness," the man said, his frustration evident. "Eye the peristyle we have at common..." He stopped, took a deep breath and started again more slowly. "Eye. The. Pe-ri-style— Ratiocination!"

It sounded like he was swearing to Josh. Not that Josh had the faintest idea what the word meant when it wasn't part of some total loony's gibberish, but the way the man spat it out was clear enough. And the way he was staring earnestly at Josh now... Josh shrank back as far as he could. "No," he said. "Whatever it is, no. I'm not doing anything. You can't make me." He looked around for something, anything, to help him out, but there wasn't so much as a fallen twig near enough to do him any good.

"You heart," the tramp began, then paused and smiled wryly. "You heart candle protect. Verity." He gestured expansively, spreading both arms wide.

Josh felt the man's grip on him slip slightly, and pulled. He jerked his arm free and stepped back hurriedly before the man could grab him again. "You need help," he said, breathing hard from both the exertion and the panic. He stuck his hand in his pocket, pulled out a few random coins and threw them at the tramp. "Look, get yourself a coffee or something, and go see a doctor."

The man took a step towards him, and Josh's nerve broke. He turned and ran while the man called more gibberish behind him.

By the time he stopped, Amy was nowhere in sight. Somehow, Josh couldn't feel too guilty.

******

The _Hollyoaks Community College_ _Students' Union Bar_ wasn't quite as noisy and chaotic this lunchtime as it would have been if half the students hadn't gone home for Christmas already. Still, it wasn't exactly quiet, which made the sight of John Paul McQueen sitting at a table with a pint of lager and his coursework a bit strange to some people. John Paul was fully aware of the stares he was getting from time to time, but it was easier to work in the bar than at home where he was constantly interrupted by his sisters.

It still rankled a bit that he'd had to move back home. John Paul had known that it couldn't really have been that simple when Jess offered to rent him a room temporarily, and when Elliot had returned early from his holiday things had all blown up as per usual. Jess hadn't even told the others what she'd been doing, she'd just skimmed the money off him. Still, it hadn't all been bad. He and Elliot had become good friends, and it wasn't like John Paul had too many friends any more.

He looked up in irritation as someone sat heavily at his table, scattering all thoughts of homework. There to his surprise was Justin Burton, looking a bit haggard and nursing an orange juice. "Rough night?" John Paul asked, bemused.

"Don't you start," Justin said wearily, rubbing his blood-shot eyes.

"Look mate, I know breaking up like that is hard, but believe me, you won't find any answers at the bottom of a bottle."

"I know, I know!"

John Paul studied Justin for a moment, watching as he slowly and painfully tried to work the kinks out of his neck. Justin wasn't exactly a friend — wasn't exactly a friend of anyone, really, now he and Katie had broken up — so he had to have some reason for disrupting John Paul's studies. Somehow John Paul didn't think Justin was there for the 'morning after' lack of sympathy he was getting.

"All right," he sighed, "what's up?"

Justin looked at him blankly for a moment. John Paul blamed it on the hangover. "Can't I just be friendly for once?" Justin asked eventually.

"No," John Paul told him bluntly. "Look, whatever's on your mind, just say it. It's not like you're in any condition to be subtle."

"Thanks," Justin said sarcastically. He stared at his glass for long enough that John Paul began to wonder if he was mistaken.

"Craig's home."

John Paul opened his mouth, then shut it again when he realised he had no idea what to say. Craig. Intellectually he knew Craig would be home for the holidays sometime, but he hadn't thought about him... No, he'd thought about Craig constantly, but faced with the reality of Craig being in the same country, never mind the same town, John Paul's mind went blank. "How is he?" he managed weakly.

"He'll be fine."

"Oh. That's good." John Paul watched Justin nurse his drink in an effort not to think about Craig, until what he'd actually said penetrated. "What do you mean, he _will_ be fine? What's wrong with him?"

Justin looked up. "Nothing, he's just as hung over as I am."

"Hung over? With you?"

"Could you not shout?" Justin asked, wincing. John Paul looked at him, weighing up whether shouting louder would get any answers. Justin seemed to get the message. "All right, all right," he said, "it's nothing serious. He got into an argument with Jake last night, and we ended up demolishing a bottle of whisky. Calvin took him home this morning, made sure Frankie knew what had happened. That's all."

"Oh. Right," John Paul said, more confused than ever. Why had Craig gone to Justin? He could have come round to John Paul's house, he knew he'd be welcome... except that he didn't, of course. The two of them were finished — heck, John Paul had turned round and walked away from him in the airport. No wonder Craig hadn't even called him, never mind turned to him for sympathy. Craig probably hated him. He had every right to.

"He asked after you," Justin said.

"Oh." John Paul was aware that he was sounding stupid, but he didn't know what to make of the things Justin was throwing at him. Craig went to Justin, and asked how John Paul was doing. Did that mean Craig still cared? Or had he been hoping to hear that John Paul was a complete train wreck so that he could have a good laugh?

John Paul was still trying to calm his racing mind and figure out how to ask Justin without sounding like a love-sick teenager when someone else came up and derailed what was passing for his train of thought.

"John Paul?" Nancy Hayton sounded impatient. Then again, she always did around John Paul. He knew that she tolerated him at best, blaming him for the whole fiasco between Craig and Sarah. Which was true enough that he'd long ago stopped trying to justify himself to her.

"Fine," he said, tossing his pen down and giving up any hope of getting any more studying done. "Pull up a chair, it's not like I'm doing anything."

"You are in the middle of the bar," Justin pointed out. John Paul glared at him.

"Don't be silly," Nancy said, pointedly ignoring Justin. "I just wanted to ask if you'd seen Katie. We're supposed to be having lunch together, but she isn't answering her phone."

"No, I don't know where she is. I take it she's not in her room?" John Paul asked, expecting the nod that he got from Nancy.

"Have you tried Warren and Louise's flat?" Justin asked.

"I'm not talking to you," Nancy said tightly.

John Paul rolled his eyes. He'd refereed enough fights between his sisters to know how this went. "She might have gone round to Warren if she's feeling a bit down," he suggested mildly. "He is her brother after all."

Nancy paused for a moment, visibly keeping her temper under control. "Fine," she said eventually. "I won't keep you from your work any longer."

John Paul smiled and waved as she turned to leave, not really expecting a response but relieved that the uncomfortable conversation was over. Justin, however, seemed to have a death-wish.

"Nancy," he said, "I just—"

Nancy whirled. "Shut up," she snarled, getting the immediate attention of the entire bar. "Because of you, my sister is dead. What makes you think there is anything you could say that I could possibly want to hear?"

Justin winced, probably because of his hang-over John Paul thought uncharitably, then opened his mouth. Since there was no way that he could say anything without making matters worse, John Paul kicked him under the table.

Unfortunately Nancy noticed. "I shouldn't be surprised the two of you have got together," she snapped. "You can always talk about whose relationship you're going to destroy next." She stared the pair of them down for a few seconds, but John Paul had been shouted at by his sisters often enough to see the brittleness under her bravado. Before he could think of anything conciliatory to say, she turned and all but ran out of the bar.

Uncomfortably aware that every eye was on him, John Paul twisted in his seat so he could see the other students. "What's the matter," he asked loudly, "never seen someone after a break-up before?" He felt a little happier as everyone industriously pretended to be interested in something else.

When he turned back, Justin was still staring at the door Nancy had left through. Justin sighed. "I know she still hates me," he said, "I just wish..." He trailed off almost wistfully, John Paul thought.

He'd had enough. That was John Paul's excuse to himself later; he'd had Justin tantalise him with hints about Craig, endured Nancy's prickly presence, and he still had at least a thousand words to go on his essay. He just wanted Justin to leave. It sounded better than wanting someone else to feel as confused as he did.

"There are easier ways of getting Jake's attention, you know," he said snarkily.

"Huh? What?"

"First you have an affair with his wife, now you're drinking with his brother and trying to make nice with his ex-girlfriend. Next thing you'll be taking a Christmas card round for Charlie."

"What are you on about?" Justin's hung-over blank look was almost funny.

"It'd be cheaper to buy him flowers," John Paul suggested sweetly.

The expression of horror that spread over Justin's face as he twigged what John Paul meant, now that was funny. "You think I...? With him? You know I'm not... I mean, no offence, but ugh!"

John Paul nodded sagely. "Don't worry," he said, struggling hard to keep a straight face. "I know how the whole denial thing goes."

*******

"There, that's all right, isn't it?"

Baby Leah wriggled a little in Ste's arms, rubbed one tiny fist across her face, and settled down with a contented sigh. Ste couldn't help but grin at her. She was adorable, especially now when she was fed, happy and ready for a sleep. Sometimes he wished she was really his daughter, that it wasn't just something that Amy had said to keep him out of trouble. He'd never admit it to anyone, but even when she was screaming her head off with a full nappy he loved the sight of her. She had him well and truly under her thumb.

Cooing and rocking her gently, Ste made his way out of the kitchen towards their bedroom. He'd lay Leah down in her cot and let her nap for an hour or two, then maybe he'd take her out for some fresh air. She liked that, and then it would be back home in time for Amy to feed her some tea.

Leah made a lazy grab for one of the decorations as they walked past, and Ste's smile slipped. The decorations only reminded him that it was nearly Christmas, and he had no money and no real job. Amy and especially Leah deserved something to make their first Christmas together special, and Ste couldn't afford anything. They only had decorations because Nige had turned up and insisted on bringing something to brighten the place up in exchange for staying for however long he felt like this time.

It wasn't fair, Ste thought, not for the first time. Everyone hated him, and they couldn't wait to see Amy 'come to her senses' and leave him. Well, he'd show them. He'd give Amy something nice for Christmas, however he had to do it, and he'd show Mike and Kathy Barnes what he thought of them sticking their noses in.

Ste was scowling by the time he'd laid Leah down, trying to think of ways to score money. That made it kind of inevitable that he'd bump into Nige as he backed quietly out of the bedroom.

Normally, Nige seemed like he was off in a world of his own, or maybe even a whole universe of his own. Ste had never been fooled by that look, though; he'd learned early while he was locked up that Nige knew exactly what was going on around him. The slow, lazy act was just Nige picking his moment.

This was one of those moments, it seemed. Ste pasted a smile on his face quickly, but not quickly enough. "What's wrong?" Nige asked.

"Nothing," Ste said brightly.

"Stephen," Nige said evenly. "You'd tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you?"

Ste twitched, he couldn't help it. He knew that tone of voice. It sounded so innocent, but it meant that Nige wanted an answer, and if he didn't like the answer Ste wasn't going to like what happened next.

"It's just..." He gestured at their pokey little council flat. "It's Christmas, and I want to get stuff for Amy and Leah, and I'm sick of being skint!"

Nige nodded slowly. It was probably supposed to look wise, but somehow it came off as creepy. Then he smiled, like a shark with bad teeth.

"You're letting it all get on top of you," he said in a friendly, expansive way that didn't fool Ste for an instant. "You need a break. Why don't you tell that beautiful girlfriend of yours to have a night out tomorrow, make a proper evening of it, and we'll have a boys' night in. My treat."

Ste gave him a rather sickly smile back. "Yeah, that'd be great," he lied. It would be torture, but he didn't dare say 'no' to Nige. People who said 'no' to Nige... no, best not to think about that.

Nige nodded and wandered off into the kitchen as if he had just solved every problem Ste had, leaving Ste to wonder why he hung around with someone who scared him rigid.

*****

Justin walked cautiously through the dark chill of the evening towards the _Dog in the Pond._ He didn't want a repeat of last night's ducking, after all, though hopefully Frankie had laid down the law about Craig and Jake fighting. According to Calvin, she hadn't been impressed with either of her sons.

Justin hoped that meant that Craig would be hanging around the _Dog_ this evening. At least then he'd have a friendly face to talk to. A face that wasn't outright hostile anyway, unless Craig had decided that last night's drinking session was a one-off, never to be repeated or even mentioned in public. Which would be just like Craig now Justin came to think of it. Oh well, he'd see.

He blinked as he walked through the doorway into the comfortably lit pub, letting the familiar sights and sounds wash over him. It wasn't a particularly busy evening, it seemed; a few of the regulars were there, but centre stage was very definitely taken by the Dean family. Craig was sat at one corner of the bar, while Jake stood at the opposite end pointedly ignoring Craig in favour of his mate, Malachy. Frankie hovered between the two of them behind the bar, apparently unable to decide which of her sons most needed mothering. Or possibly smothering.

That made Justin's decision easier. He sauntered up to the bar as if he wasn't Frankie's least favourite person in the entire universe, and ordered a pint while she was still distracted.

It was too much to hope for that Jake would ignore him too. Jake took one look, then grabbed his coat. "Let's get out of here," he said to Malachy, "there's a nasty smell in the air." He let his glance slide from Justin to Craig and back, clearly including his brother in the insult.

Justin stiffened. Jake insulting him was fair enough — Justin didn't like it, and nine times out of ten he'd give it Jake straight back, but he couldn't honestly say that he hadn't earned it. Using Justin to get at Craig, on the other hand, was not on.

"I'm surprised you can smell anything with your head that far up your arse," Craig snapped out, beating Justin to the punch.

Jake made a move towards Craig. Justin turned to put himself between the two of them, but Jake stopped as Malachy put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on," Malachy said, "this place is dead anyway tonight. Let's go into Chester, there's this club I know..."

Jake let himself be steered out of the pub, but his glare promised that this wasn't forgotten. Justin didn't care. He turned back to Craig and watched for a moment as Craig slowly unclenched his jaw. "Thanks," Justin said quietly.

"I didn't do it for you," Craig ground out, his eyes never leaving the door as Jake left.

"I know," Justin said. "Thanks anyway."

"See what you've done now," Frankie said in a low voice. Justin turned tiredly, but to his surprise she was looking at Craig.

Craig looked a bit surprised too. "Mum," he began, but Frankie didn't seem to be in the mood.

"Setting your brother off like that when you know he's still getting over breaking up with Nancy," she continued as if Craig hadn't spoken.

"He started it!" Craig protested.

"I don't care who started it," Frankie said firmly. "You know what Jake gets like. I expected better of you."

Craig looked like he was about to either explode or cry. Despite all the history between him and the Deans, Justin found that it hurt to see the family tearing itself to bits like this. In possibly the stupidest move in a day full of stupid moves, he put his hand on Craig's shoulder. "Look mate," he said gently, "let's just go and sit down, OK?"

"I'm not your mate," Craig muttered, shaking Justin's hand off. It was a testament to how upset he was, Justin later thought, that he still allowed Justin to steer him away from his mother.

Craig slumped down in one of the window seats as far away from the bar as he could get, crossed his arms over his chest, and glared at his drink as if it was responsible for all his troubles. He didn't even look up when Justin sat down beside him. At least he hadn't been told where to go, Justin thought; that was about as much of an invitation as he ever expected to get off any of the Deans.

"Don't tell me you're still hung over," Justin asked, waving vaguely at Craig's orange juice.

"It's all Mum'll let me have after last night," Craig said sulkily.

Justin couldn't help snorting. "I reckon you needed last night."

"What do you mean?"

Justin opened his mouth, took one look at Craig's angry face, and shut it again. Telling Craig that not just him but his entire family needed to stop bottling everything up was just going to start a fight by the looks of it. "After that bad a day, I'd be drowning my sorrows," he said instead.

"Yeah, well," Craig said. He didn't complete what Justin was fairly sure was going to have been an insult, opting instead to look away and start fiddling with a beer mat. Justin took that as encouragement.

He waited for a moment, but Craig didn't seem to be inclined to say anything more. Before the silence got too awkward, he said, "I saw John Paul earlier."

Craig looked back so fast it was a wonder he didn't get whiplash. "You stay away from him," he growled. Justin put his hands up and started to protest, but Craig wasn't in a listening mood. "I'm warning you, stay away from him. I don't know what game you think you're playing, but you leave him out of it."

"I'm not..." Justin trailed off. Truth was, he didn't really know what he was doing. Last night at least he'd had the excuse that Craig hadn't had anywhere else to go and even Justin couldn't leave him in that state. Then today he'd seen John Paul and couldn't get how hurt Craig had been out of his head.

"So what, you thought you'd check up on my... on him out of the kindness of your heart?"

"I just thought you'd want him to know you were back," Justin said quietly.

"Is that was this is about?" Craig asked, his voice low but venomous. "Are you trying to worm your way into my good books? And then what, find another way to tear my family apart? Is that it, is this just another twisted plot to get to Jake?"

Justin shuddered. He couldn't help it; Craig's words were too close to what John Paul had said earlier, and Justin never wanted to have that idea in his head ever again. "No!" he said forcefully. He took a breath, looked straight into Craig's eyes and continued more quietly. "No. Nothing like that, I swear. I just thought... I don't know. I just wanted to help."

"Well maybe I don't want your help," Craig said, but the fire wasn't in his voice any more. Justin decided to take it as a good sign. He was about to change the subject and ask what Dublin was like when they were interrupted.

"Excuse me, guys," a stranger asked in a strong American accent, "do you know where the pool cues are kept?"

******

John Paul pulled his jacket tighter as he headed down the steps away from Hollyoaks Community College. It wasn't that cold, but the gesture made him feel more comfortable, more like he was in control.

He wasn't even marginally in control, of course. He'd spent all afternoon wandering around the HCC campus, trying to figure things out. He needed to get his head together before he ran into Craig otherwise he'd just make a fool of himself. Well, more of a fool of himself; making some kind of fool of himself where Craig was concerned was pretty much a given.

Why had Craig gone to Justin? That was the thing John Paul couldn't make sense of. He knew Craig, knew how important family was to him. What Justin had done to that family... John Paul hadn't thought that Craig would ever stop hating Justin for that, never mind spend an evening drinking with him. While the tiny part of John Paul that had paid attention while the catechism was being drummed into him couldn't help but see that as a good thing, he still didn't understand it. It just wasn't like Craig, and what did that mean about Craig and him?

He knew it was no good worrying at it like this, what with his thoughts going round and round like some demented hamster in its wheel, but John Paul couldn't help himself. Craig was here, and no matter how much both of them tried to avoid it they'd meet some time, and... and John Paul didn't have a clue what he wanted to happen then.

Wrapped up in his thoughts, John Paul blundered straight into someone rounding the corner at the foot of the steps.

"Watch where you're going, why don't you?"

John Paul groaned. It was just his luck. Kris Fisher's hard Belfast accent was unmistakable, and he was the last person on earth John Paul needed to deal with right now. Well, last but one. "Sorry," he mumbled, and turned to leave.

"Hold on," Kris said sharply. He looked at John Paul narrowly for a moment, then rolled his eyes and shook his head. "All right," he sighed, "out with it."

John Paul was a little surprised, but he still wasn't about to pour his heart out to Kris. He and Kris didn't get on that well, and Kris's nose was still out of joint about the whole pirate radio business. The very last thing he needed to do was to give Kris more ammunition. "Out with what?" he tried gamely.

"Whatever's got you looking like a wet Monday morning," Kris said firmly. "Come on now, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," John Paul said, but it sounded weak even to him.

"Uh-huh," Kris replied skeptically. "I don't suppose this has anything to do with Craig Dean suddenly being back in town, does it?"

"Uh, no."

"Don't go into politics, John Paul, you're a rubbish liar."

"I don't see what business of yours it is anyway," John Paul said sulkily. "It's my life."

"Oh, it's none of my business," Kris agreed cheerily, "but frankly it's getting boring."

"I'm sorry I'm not entertaining enough for you."

Kris ignored the sarcasm utterly. "Seriously, how long have you two been trying to decide whether you were together or not? You must have figured out by now if you want him."

"It's not as simple as that," John Paul protested. Kris folded his arms and raised his eyebrows, daring John Paul to continue. He couldn't understand, John Paul thought, how hard it had been for Craig, and then in the end John Paul had been the one to walk away. "What if he—?"

"Well you aren't going to find out if you keep avoiding him, are you?" Kris interrupted.

It was on the tip of John Paul's tongue to say that he hadn't been avoiding Craig, but somehow he didn't think Kris would believe him. "I don't want to push him," he said eventually.

Kris rolled his eyes again. "Tell it to someone who cares. Look, either you two love each other or you don't. Either you go and snog hell out of him or you get over it. I don't really care which, but I'm getting dizzy watching you dither."

It still wasn't that simple, John Paul thought. It could never be that simple between him and Craig. Kris wasn't going to accept that, though, so all he said was, "I'll think about it."

"Oh for God's sake... Go to the _Dog_ and talk to him, and put us all out of our misery, or I'll do it for you."

That was a threat, and John Paul knew better than to think Kris wouldn't carry it out. He'd have to talk to Craig — just not tonight. "All right, all right!", he said, raising his hands in defeat. "What is it, Pick On John Paul Day or something?"

Kris smirked. "Didn't you hear, every day is Pick On John Paul Day."

John Paul shook his head and turned to go. What was the world coming to when even the people he didn't get on with were as pushy about his love life as his mother was?

Behind him, Kris looked skywards and quietly muttered, "Don't say I never do anything for you."

******

"A strip club?"

Jake didn't sound very impressed. Malachy didn't care. "It's exactly what you need, my friend," he said with an easy grin born of years of practice. "Now that you're out from under the little woman's thumb you can relax, live a little. Enjoy what else is on offer out there," he added, carefully waiting until he felt Jake's twinge of conscience at his dismissive mention of Nancy.

Jake looked up at the exterior club Malachy had guided him to and grimaced. Like most of its ilk, the _Pole Star_ looked pretty non-descript on the outside. "I'm not really sure..." he began.

"Oh, come on. What with all the drama about your brother turning up, you're owed some good old-fashioned adult entertainment." That did it. Just mentioning Jake's brother caused the man's emotions to leap through the most delicious range of hate, fear and self-loathing until he latched on to any way out. Malachy leaned closer to him. "Some of the girls will even do private performances," he said confidentially, "and it so happens I know the owner."

"OK, you talked me into it," Jake said with a grin. Malachy didn't need to be an empath to see the brittleness behind that smile, and he couldn't resist tasting it. Desperation, that was the constant undertone with Jake. There was always a thread of blackness running through his emotions that a little work could turn into a burst of angst that Malachy could survive on for a long time. Mention Jake's brother, and he turned into an all-you-can-eat buffet of dark emotions. That was probably why Francis was so keen to keep him away from this place, Malachy thought sourly; his annoying little brother wanted the feast all to himself.

Inside, the club was very different from its drab exterior. Low lighting that suggested more than it showed, heavy drapes that added sensuality, and everything in deep reds that made you feel sleazy just breathing. Perfect, Malachy reckoned, for making every single patron's thoughts veer hard towards sex. He surveyed the talent on offer tonight, and couldn't fault that either. There were some definite lookers on stage, good enough to deserve proper appreciation. "I'll get the drinks in," he told Jake, "you get us a table. Near the front," he added with a leer.

The barman, once Malachy managed to get served, was someone he recognised from the club's less human business side. Judging from the scowl and the emotional blank that greeted him, recognition was mutual. Malachy wasn't that surprised; he owed Astarte — and wasn't that name just begging for trouble for a lady of her talents? — a fair bit this time.

"You know you're not welcome here until you've cleared your tab," he was told frostily.

"And a good evening to you too," Malachy replied cheerfully. "As it happens, I do have something that I think that the boss-lady will find interesting." He let his attention wander over to where Jake was claiming seats. "Very interesting."

The barman's gaze flickered over to Jake before looking back at Malachy assessingly. "The one you mentioned before?"

Malachy smiled broadly. "Oh yes," he said in his best salesman manner, "and very eager to be pleased by the ladies tonight."

"We'll see." The barman signalled a replacement over and disappeared through a back door, not giving anything away. If Malachy's luck ran true to form, Astarte would make a snap decision that Jake wasn't the sort of person she thought she could use, and Malachy would have to spin him a line about why the pair of them had been tossed out on their ears. Which given Jake's attitude about how all the crap going always happened to him might not be an entirely bad thing, now Malachy thought of it.

Not for the first time, Malachy wished that he didn't have such expensive tastes. Somehow it seemed that wherever he went there was always someone like Astarte ready to tempt him into wanting too much. While it was great at the time, he always ended up either leaving town in a hurry or having to give up a rich, easy meal like Jake. Still, it wasn't like anyone was stupid enough to let an empath into a normal poker game.

Minutes later, the barman reappeared with two brimming pint glasses. "She'll see you tomorrow, after inspecting the merchandise," he said, not bothering to hide his disappointment at not getting to beat up Malachy. "This is a beer for you, and a _special_ for your friend. Keep him here when he figures out he's not happy; some of the girls will be by to rub his nose in it later."

Malachy beamed with relief. For one gloriously stupid moment he considered telling the barman that drugging Jake to suppress his libido was crude, lacking the finesse of a true artist; but no, he needed to clear his debts so he'd play it Astarte's way. "I'll look forward to it," was all he said.

Walking over to the table where Jake was waiting, Malachy started rehearsing the lines he'd need to keep Jake on edge about why his dick wasn't interested in the pretty ladies.

******

Xander swore as his ball wriggled around the corner pocket but refused to go down. "Your game," he told the teenager who had comprehensively taken him to the cleaners.

Craig made short work of the eight ball, seemingly pleased with himself. That at least was a definite improvement on the angry and suspicious look he'd been wearing for most of their match. Xander gave himself a mental pat on the back for doing a random good deed.

"Do you play much?" Craig asked.

"Not for a while," Xander said ruefully, thinking of those nights long ago in the Bronze. "In fact, I think this is the first time I've played since I lost this." He touched his eye-patch. Not having both eyes was throwing his game off more than he'd expected; apparently whacking at demons with an axe and poking at a ball with a cue were different enough that he needed to get used to playing pool all over again.

Craig thought this over. He handed his cue to the other teenager, Justin. "You need the practice," he said; Xander wasn't entirely clear which of them he was talking to, and judging from Justin's puzzled look neither was he.

"OK," Xander said, reaching for his wallet, "but I pay for the drinks. I lost, after all." Craig proved to be about as resistant to this argument as every other teenager Xander had ever encountered, himself included. Xander took a moment figuring out which of the brightly-coloured British notes would cover a round of drinks, while Justin racked the balls.

Xander spent a good long while lining up his break shot, trying to figure out how to allow for his missing eye. One of the striped balls obligingly sank into a pocket, leaving the cue ball trapped in a mass of solid colours. Xander sighed; Spike would be laughing his ass off about now at the usual Harris luck.

"So what was all that about earlier?" he asked not entirely idly, nodding toward where Craig was waiting to be served. He still had to figure out just what Hellmouthy stuff was going on around here, and asking around about anything even mildly dramatic was pretty much all he had left. "With the other guy, I mean."

He looked up from the pool table to see Justin staring at him narrowly. "What happened to your eye?" Justin shot back.

Fair enough, Xander thought. He couldn't fault Justin for being protective, what with Xander being a completely unknown foreigner oh-so-suavely asking fairly personal questions. He might as well answer; it wasn't like Justin was going to believe him.

"A psychopathic preacher decided I looked better without it," he said simply.

Justin looked at him incredulously for a moment, then shook his head. "Where would... no, never mind, I don't want to know." He closed his eyes for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. "Craig's just home for the holidays, and his big brother still can't cope with him being gay."

OK, not what Xander had been expecting. Not that Xander had been expecting much, but echoes of Larry weren't it. Confused sexuality was more normal than he'd been hoping for, and distinctly non-Hellmouthy, even if Xander did have to smile at how his younger self would have freaked out — had freaked out, come to that — at the mere thought. "So the two of you...?" he gestured vaguely, trying to ask without actually asking.

"God, no!" Justin exploded. "Why does everyone keep saying that?"

Xander bit his lip to keep from laughing. "Sorry," he said, aware that he probably didn't look the least bit sorry, "I just assumed that since the two of you were hanging together..."

"Well don't." Justin said grumpily. Xander turned back to the pool table to hide his smile. He was so engrossed in figuring out his next shot that he nearly missed Justin's quiet, "We don't even like each other."

Xander froze. Something about those words and Justin's almost questioning tone of voice was off. He couldn't put his finger on it, but years of keeping his eyes and ears open around high school were insisting that something wasn't right, something that he needed to keep tabs on. Looking up again, he could see that Justin was looking between Craig at the bar and the door to the pub. Whether he was waiting for someone to arrive or figuring out if he could make a quick exit, Xander couldn't tell.

It was going to take tact, subtlety and superhuman grasp of teenage psychology to figure out what was up with those two, Xander thought as he leant down to play the only shot available to him. Or he could ask his Slayer in the morning.

He took the shot, and cursed as the cue ball headed straight for a corner pocket.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake does not enjoy himself, and Josh and Ste have a really bad experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** near-rape experience in this chapter.

Amy whirled, darted forward, did an entirely unnecessary hand-spring, pulled out a stake and hit the target that Xander had pinned up to a tree square in the centre. "You're enjoying yourself," Xander said accusingly.

"What's up with you, Mr Grumpy?" Amy asked, grinning from ear to ear.

Yes, definitely enjoying herself way too much, Xander thought sourly. He sighed. "Sorry, it's just been one of those days," he explained. None of his research had payed off, no one that he'd met had been any more willing to talk than the guys last night, and he generally seemed to be getting nowhere fast in his assigned role as Junior Giles. The most likely thing to show up in the local papers, an alleged toxic chemical spill that had caused mass hallucinations and several fatalities, turned out to have happened in a village halfway across the county. He didn't even have anywhere he could train his Slayer out of sight of the rest of the world, which is why they were hiding away in the park well after dark.

Plus he was cold, Xander thought, tugging at his scarf. Growing up in California and spending the last couple of years in Africa in no way prepared him for Merrie Olde Englande's lousy weather. The fact that Amy had taken off her light coat to practise the moves he was teaching her just rubbed it in.

Amy bounced up to him. "What do you want me to do next?" she asked enthusiastically, making Xander feel even older. "You mentioned something about a crossbow?"

"Not for a while yet," Xander said firmly. "Anyway, shouldn't you be thinking about getting home? Your boyfriend will start getting suspicious if you spend all evening with a handsome older man."

"Good thing I'm with you, then," Amy teased. "No, Ste won't worry. He thinks I'm having a girly night out with Sasha and Michaela. He won't expect me back for hours yet."

"That's not always going to be true," Xander pointed out.

"Yeah, but it's true tonight."

"There are going to be nights when you need to go out late to deal with some nasty or other. Buffy had enough trouble sneaking out past her Mom. Sneaking out on your boyfriend..." Xander shook his head, glad though he was to have got off the subject of his age and infirmity. "Have you thought about what you're going to do about him yet?"

Amy's face hardened. "I'm not leaving Ste, if that's what you mean. I wouldn't do it for my Dad, and I'm certainly not doing it for you."

"So you're telling him then."

Silence followed Xander's blunt statement. Amy glared at him for a while, then started in surprise. "Are you cold?" she asked, looking at him narrowly.

"No," Xander said a little too quickly. He couldn't stop himself from shivering and pulling his coat closer around him.

"You are," Amy insisted. "God, what was I thinking? You're old enough to be my father, you must be freezing."

"Hey, I'm not that much older than you! And since when does that mean I feel the cold anyway?"

"Come on," Amy said, ignoring him utterly, " _Gnosh_ will still be open. You can warm up there and have a coffee. Um, you'll have to pay for it though."

Xander rolled his eyes. "And pay for one for you too, huh?" he asked. He couldn't help but smile as Amy looked hang-dog at him. "Maybe not coffee, though. I'm thinking that you and caffeine are non-mixy things." Like pretty much all the Slayers he knew, come to think of it.

Amy gave him a slightly sceptical look. "Well, you said you needed to talk to me," she said. "Assuming you can talk in actual English, that is."

"Yeah, we do need to talk," Xander said as Amy dragged him back towards the centre of the village. There was all of the standard Slayer stuff to get through, and he didn't have the excuse of not speaking the same language as his Slayer this time. He also hadn't told her about the mini-Hellmouth yet, he realised.

"Let's see, I did the whole 'The world didn't start as a paradise' speech yesterday, didn't I?" Amy nodded. "Right. So one of the things about vampires and demons is that you can't always tell that they're the bad guys just by looking. Some demons are as ugly as they come, sure, but not all of them. Vampires can look as human as you or me — hey, stop looking at me like that!" Amy had the grace to look abashed as she tore her eyes away from Xander's eye-patch. "Just remember, a vampire can look like the cutest boy you've ever seen right up to the point where the fangs come out."

"Cute?" Amy asked, cocking her head curiously.

"Some time when you're older and I'm drunk, ask me about the disasters that were Angel and Spike." Xander was too wrapped up in his annoyance at the not-so-evil dead to notice the measuring look that Amy gave him before she shrugged and moved on.

"So how do I tell if someone's a vampire? I can't exactly go shoving a cross in the face of everyone I meet, people will think I'm weird."

"All the same, if you're ever in doubt, lead with a cross or holy water," Xander advised her. "It's a real life-saver in the hideous embarrassment stakes. Luckily for you, you also get some kind of mystical sense as part of the whole Slayer package. Buffy says that she feels something wrong, like an ache in her gut that kind of pulls one way or another. It seems to be different for each Slayer, though." Faith claimed that she felt hornier when there were vampires about, though how she could tell the difference Xander had no idea. "Have you felt anything out of the ordinary recently, like when you met that vampire the other night?"

Amy thought about that for a while as they walked on. "Not really," she said with a shrug. "The only thing that's even close is that I've been headachey around home for the last few days, and that's because Leah's been grizzling non-stop with her teeth."

It sounded innocent enough, so of course Xander was immediately suspicious. 'Innocent enough' generally meant 'guilty as hell' in Sunnydale, a lesson that Xander had learned far too painfully to let go of in a hurry. "All the time when you're at home?" he asked. Amy shrugged again, but she looked a lot more uncertain now. Good, Xander thought. He'd been worried that she was beginning to treat this too light-heartedly.

Coming to a decision, Xander changed direction abruptly. "Come on," he said, "let's go poke around your place, 'cause there's something else I haven't had time to tell you yet. Apparently there some kind of mystical convergence of badness around here somewhere. It's nothing big, otherwise I'd have come with lots of backup, but we can't pin it down."

"And you think it's in my flat?" Amy asked, sounding distinctly worried.

"I think it's somewhere near your flat," he amended. He carefully didn't mention that it was more likely that he needed to have pointed words — possibly literally — with her boyfriend. After all the grief he'd had with first Angel and then Spike, he was going to enjoy that.

"Are you sure? I mean, how do you find out about things like that?"

It was Xander's turn to shrug. "I don't, but my witchy friends are sure that something's going on. Don't worry, it's strictly small fry. My high school was built on top of a genuine, honest-to-God portal to Hell, and we know it's not in the same league as that."

"If that was supposed to be comforting," Amy told him sharply, "you failed miserably."

**************

Jake steeled himself and knocked on the door in front of him. This wasn't going to be easy.

When Nancy opened the door and smiled at him, he nearly broke. She looked so happy to see him... but that was all, Jake knew. She didn't understand, not yet.

"Jake! How are you? How's Charlie?"

For a moment all Jake could see was the pleading look in her eyes, but he hardened his heart. He wouldn't let her manipulate him, that was the whole problem with their relationship. "I'm here for some of Charlie's toys," he said, careful to keep his voice even and emotionless.

Nancy's face fell. "Of course," she said quietly. "I'll just get them for you." She turned and walked into the flat, and Jake followed her. As he had every right to do.

At the door to the bedroom, Nancy stopped and turned back to him. "I don't understand, Jake," she said, suddenly looking small and lost. "Why did you leave? Was it something I did? If you'd just tell me, I'll do whatever I have to to fix it." She took a short, shuddering breath. "I just want us to be a family, you, me and Charlie."

"It's for the best," Jake said as evenly as he could. He wasn't surprised that Nancy couldn't keep eye contact with him, that she all but fled into her bedroom, leaving him alone.

She had said it all without even realising, Jake reflected as he stood there, feeling awkward despite knowing that he was doing the right thing. Nancy didn't understand, and she didn't do what he told her. If she'd just trust him, do things his way, it would all work out. The three of them would be a real family then. But no, she kept trying to do things her way, twisting everything until it was all about her, her friends, what she wanted.

He had to find some way to show her, Jake knew. Something to prove to her that she needed him, that she needed to trust him. But what?

Jake was staring at the little kitchen when inspiration hit him. If he just loosened the water line to the taps a little, just enough to make it leak onto the floor... Nancy was no good with plumbing. She was no good with anything mechanical, no matter what she thought. She was bound to call him, and he'd come round and tighten everything back up and tell her that she was silly for not calling a plumber...

He had taken two steps towards the sink when his phone rang. Malachy. "What?" he demanded.

"Well, and aren't you in a charming mood," Malachy said cheerily. "Don't worry though, Dr Fisher has just what you need."

"Malachy, I'm not really in the mood—"

"You will be." Jake couldn't help rolling his eyes at Malachy's enthusiasm. "I've turned on the charm with certain ladies we both appreciated last night, and I've managed to get us both a 'private showing' tonight."

Jake knew exactly what he meant, but the idea didn't fill him with enthusiasm. Last night's visit to the club hadn't done much for his mood; in fact it had left him pretty cold. Malachy had certainly enjoyed himself, and Jake had tried to make appreciative comments so as not to spoil his friend's night, but when it came down to it he'd been tired and annoyed, and none of the girls had been Nancy.

"I don't know," he said, "I'm not sure I'm up to it this evening."

"Oh trust me," Malachy enthused, "these girls will get you up all right."

"I mean there's things I have to do, helping out Mum and Jack..."

"What's the matter with you?" Malachy asked, sounding concerned all of a sudden. "You sound about as happy about the idea as your brother would be."

Jake stiffened, conflicting emotions running through his head at the comparison with his brother. "I'm not—" he began sharply.

Nancy chose that moment to reappear with a bag of Charlie's toys. "Is everything all right?" she asked, frowning.

Jake waved her quiet, but evidently she had been loud enough for his phone to pick up her words. "Oh, I get it," Malachy said, sounding a little aggrieved himself. "The little woman's put her foot down, has she?"

She was trying to, Jake suddenly realised, asking if everything was all right as if Jake couldn't cope, as if he was the one who needed help. Well, he'd show her, and then maybe she'd learn that she needed to trust him.

"No, nothing like that," he said firmly into the phone. "Tell you what, I'll get Darren to cover my shift and I'll meet you in an hour, OK?"

"I know where to send the search parties if you're late," Malachy said with a laugh. "See you later."

Jake closed his phone with a smile. It wasn't like he'd have a bad time at the club, even if he wasn't really in the mood. At the very worst he'd have a pretty woman showering him with attention, and what was the harm in that?

***********

For about the tenth time in as many minutes, Josh Ashworth asked himself what the heck he was doing. He looked at his phone again.

> `"NEED 2 TALK ABT BND`   
> `CU@STES @8`   
> `NIGE"`

When he'd received the text message that afternoon Josh had had every intention of ignoring it. Nige wasn't someone that he wanted anything to do with, hadn't been since he'd bulldozed his way into the _Baby Diegos_. Just knowing that he was a friend of Ste's would have been enough to make Josh avoid him. Having actually met the guy, Josh didn't know if Nige made him more angry or more nervous.

No, Josh told himself with a sigh, that wasn't true. He knew perfectly well that Nige scared him rigid. He'd never seen Nige more than a bit annoyed, but one look at him then had been more than enough. When Nige wanted something, he didn't seem to care what or who he broke getting it. Right now he wanted to talk to Josh, and Josh didn't think he was going to take 'No' for an answer.

It would be too much to hope for that Ste wouldn't be there too. He'd want to be around just to gloat; he'd made enough of taking Amy off Josh, there was no way he'd pass up a chance to laugh at Josh for losing the _Diegos_ as well. He'd probably made himself their manager or something, Josh thought sourly.

He had almost reached the front door of Amy's little flat, consoling himself with the thought that at least there would be one friendly face there, when he felt someone pull on his coat sleeve. "Anthracite volumes," a rough voice said urgently. "Invidious behold the manuscript tottering!"

Josh turned to see the crazy tramp who had tried to grab him in the park. "Let go of me," he yelled, not caring who heard as long as he made enough of a disturbance to scare the guy off. "I don't know what you think you're doing, but I can't understand you and I don't care. Go away and stop bothering me or... or I'll set the police on you."

Twisting free, Josh ran the last few yards to Amy's door and banged loudly. The tramp easily caught up with him, still spouting incomprehensible gibberish, but at least he didn't seem to be trying to paw at Josh any more. When the door opened, Josh didn't waste any time but rudely slipped inside past Nige.

It was only once he was inside and had time to think again that Josh noticed that Nige was standing there dressed in just his boxers and a tatty old dressing gown, apparently oblivious to the cold air pouring in from the outside. He was still staring down the tramp, who stood in front of him, one hand raised with the fingers splayed apart. Somehow, Josh couldn't see how exactly, the crazy guy managed to shove Nige halfway down the little hallway.

The tramp burst into the house while Nige was pulling himself together, and grabbed Josh by the wrist. "Inbound attention," he said, looking more wild-eyed than ever. "Thine interestingly extrinsic availability goth." Josh tried to resist, but the anger and irritation that had fueled him outside was rapidly turning into a numbing fear.

"It's all right," Nige said, lumbering up to them. "I'll deal with him." Somehow that didn't make Josh feel any better. The tramp turned, raising his free hand to ward off the incoming trouble, but Nige beat him to the punch.

The next few seconds happened in horrified slow motion for Josh. He saw Nige strike hard, and heard the awful crunch as Nige's fist carried on through the tramp's ribcage and ripped out of the back of his coat. The tramp sagged for moment, then his grip on Josh's wrist loosened and he toppled towards floor.

Josh didn't faint, but he must have blanked out the next few seconds at the shock of seeing that. The next thing he was conscious of was Nige dragging him through the house, muttering annoyedly about getting blood all over his sleeve as if killing that old man hadn't mattered at all. Terrified was far too mild a word for what Josh felt then.

He wasn't in the slightest bit reassured when Nige dragged him into the bedroom and he saw Ste standing there. Ste was just wearing a pair of boxers, and he looked every bit as petrified as Josh felt. "Please," Ste whimpered, staring unsteadily at the blood on Nige's robe.

"Did I say you could speak?" Nige asked matter-of-factly, as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. Ste cringed. Josh thought about running away and calling the police, but then Nige turned his attention back and any pretence of rational thought fled.

Nige pushed Josh into the room to stand next to Ste, then closed the door behind himself. "Isn't this cosy?" he asked. Somehow it was all the worse for the way there didn't seem to be any trace of irony in his voice. "Now, here's what's going to happen."

Josh listened with mounting horror as Nige explained that first he and then Josh were going to rape Ste, as if it was something that happened every day. Beside him, Ste was trembling uncontrollably, though like Josh he didn't dare make a noise. "Then we're going to wait for our kids to hatch," Nige finished. "It won't take them long to finish Ste off." Ste did whimper again at that, and Nige gave him a kindly smile. "Think of it like this," he said; "with his brains and my good looks, our kids are bound to be brilliant. You should be honoured to be their first meal."

Mad, Josh thought haltingly. Nige had gone stark, staring mad. He'd already killed one person, and now he was talking about raping and killing Ste and making babies with Josh somehow, and it was all utterly mad and there wasn't a single thing Josh could do about it. Nige was probably going to kill Josh too when no little Niges magically appeared, and Josh was too scared to think of anything he could do about that, even.

Then Nige shrugged off his robe, flexed his shoulders and _rippled_ somehow, and Josh came to the conclusion that he was the one going mad. It was the only explanation; he couldn't really be seeing Nige's eyes turn an unnatural red, or a dusting of tiny scales like moth's wings appear on his chest and shoulders, or those appallingly bad teeth of Nige's turn into a horrible, serrated bony ridge.

The next minutes were a welter of mind-numbing fear for Josh. He was vaguely aware of Nige ordering Ste to undress him and make a show of it. He couldn't summon up the guts to resist as his jacket, sweater and shirt came off. It was only as Ste reached round to undo his belt and they touched more than briefly, Ste's skinny chest to Josh's equally skinny back, that a single coherent thought managed to penetrate the fog around his mind: if Josh didn't do something, Ste was going to die.

He put his trembling hands on top of Ste's and moved them away from his belt. Then he pulled together every tiny scrap of courage he could find and, not trusting his voice still, shook his head at Nige.

Nige frowned. "Don't make me hurt you," he said mildly, and slapped Josh on the side of the head.

It looked gentle, but it rattled Josh's teeth, and for a moment fear of Nige won out over fear for Ste. He took an involuntary half-step backwards into Ste, and heard the other boy whisper "Please" in a choked sob.

He needed Ste, Josh realised as he felt his strength trickle back. He needed someone to keep him grounded, someone to fight for. As Ste reached for his belt again, Josh took hold of his arms and wrapped them around his own waist instead this time, keeping them in contact. Once again he shook his head, trying to look more confident than he felt, and this time when Nige slapped at him he managed to block the blow. Nige actually looked surprised, and Josh took heart from that. It was just as well, because the next moment Nige launched a string of punches at him, and it was all Josh could do to avoid getting hurt. He couldn't dodge, not with Ste hanging on to him for dear life, so he had to keep blocking as best he could. It couldn't last, he knew; he didn't have time to even think of launching a punch of his own, and as it was his arms were going to be one massive bruise by the time Nige was finished. They needed a distraction.

Amy burst into the bedroom, and Josh's heart sank. "Amy, run!" he heard Ste shout. "Get out of here!" Josh drew breath to say the same thing, but Nige was the one to take advantage of the distraction. He only caught Josh a glancing blow, but it was more than enough to send both Josh and Ste sprawling in an ungainly heap on the floor.

Amy didn't run. As he tried to shake the stars out of his vision, Josh heard her demand, "What do you think you're doing with them?" Nige just stared impassively at her as she advanced on him, and when she hesitated he hit her hard enough to knock her clean across the little bedroom into the opposite wall.

"Enough interruptions," Nige said. "I'll just make sure she never bothers us again."

Josh gave an inarticulate moan as he tried to disentangle himself from Ste. His head was still spinning from when Nige hit him, and he wasn't sure that he could stand at all never mind in time to stop Nige doing anything else, but he had to try. He had to get to Amy, he had to stop Nige from killing her too.

"Excuse me," a new voice said, "but do you mind if ask what kind of demon you are?" Standing in the doorway was the man with the eye-patch that Josh had seen Amy with yesterday. He sounded almost cheerful with a bright and unmistakably American accent, but bleary as he was Josh could see that the man was breathing quickly and his smile was a bit fragile. "I mean, the eyes and the teeth could happen to anyone, but the aura of abject pants-wetting fear is a dead giveaway."

Nige stopped and turned towards the intruder. "You talk too much," he said.

"I know, I know, I babble when I get nervous. I blame Willow." The man was looking a lot more scared now that he had Nige's full attention, but he didn't back down or shut up. "Luckily, I've got a lot of experience of fighting when I'm half scared to death. Also, I know something you don't."

"What's that?" Nige asked, taking a step towards the man.

"I'm just the distraction."

Amy lit into Nige from the side, hitting him hard. Josh didn't know how she was even standing, given how badly his legs were wobbling as he and Ste finally got back on their feet, but she seemed to have shrugged off being knocked across the room in just a few seconds. She also seemed to have learned kung fu or something, from the way she was moving as Nige tried to hit her again. Despite the close confines of the room, he couldn't lay a finger on her while she landed blow after blow.

Josh couldn't believe how one-sided it all looked. Amy was one of the sweetest, gentlest people he knew, yet here she was in a fight with a hardened criminal... thing like Nige, and she hadn't even let him get his balance back since she started. Josh watched as Nige swung wildly and Amy just swayed to the side, grabbed Nige's extended arm and threw him into the wall.

"Amy, catch!" the man with the eye-patch said. He had pulled something out of a duffel bag at his feet and now tossed it to her while Nige got back up. It took Josh a moment to recognise that Amy was holding a small sword, then Nige was charging her and Amy swung and there was a spray of something too orange to be blood and... and Nige was lying on the floor while his head gently rolled to a stop by the door, and Josh thought he was going to be sick.

Amy didn't look much better. She stared at the body in shock for a long moment until a determined wailing started up from the nursery. "Oh God, Leah!" she said, and rushed out of the bedroom.

The one-eyed man let her past, then squatted down and poked at Nige's body with what looked like a little wooden cross. "Huh," he said, "whatever it was, beheading seems to have worked." He looked up at Josh and Ste and gave them a manic smile. "You know, you probably ought to stop holding hands now or people will talk."

Josh had absolutely no inclination whatsoever to let go of Ste right then, not while Ste was still staring in utter shock at the corpse of someone — something — whatever — that he'd once called a friend. He wanted to know who this man thought he was and just what the hell was going on before he was going to do anything. "Hard the orthogonal beach braiding?" he demanded.

Well, hell.

*******

This couldn't be happening. Ste had been repeating that to himself for the last hour, but none of the terror and desperation he'd put into the plea had made any difference.

He sat on his bed, staring blankly at the spot where Nige's body had fallen. He was vaguely aware that someone had dragged the corpse away, but all he could think about was how numb he felt. You were supposed to feel something when your friend died, weren't you? Even if that friend scared the shit out of you, you were supposed to feel something, but he didn't. He'd been so afraid all evening, and now that he wasn't he didn't think he could feel anything any more.

"Here, I made you some tea."

Ste blinked. Amy was in front of him, holding out a steaming mug. Tea, yes, tea would be good. The only problem was that he'd have to let go of... of...

It was alright. Josh was still sat beside him, looking every bit as shell-shocked as Ste felt, but he wasn't about to leave Ste alone. Gratefully, Ste took the mug and let it warm his hands. He smiled at Amy, then looked questioningly between her and Josh. He wasn't up to talking yet but, as he hoped, she understood him. She'd brought tea for Josh as well.

Ste closed his eyes and let the heat and the sweetness of the tea slowly revive him. It was over, he told himself. If he said it often enough he might start to believe it. What had happened to him was impossible, and the people involved even more so. He had known Nige since they'd been in the detention centre together, but it turned out he hadn't known him at all. Then there was Josh Ashworth, who Ste had always thought of as a weak, pampered little goodie-two-shoes, but who had been stronger than Ste this time. And finally Amy, his beautiful, sweet, gentle Amy, had killed someone in front of him.

It had taken a while before he could stop himself jumping in fright every few seconds. His first impulse once he could think coherently again had been to check on Josh, who was beginning to look more relaxed or at least less shocked himself now. Someone had draped his shirt over his shoulders; Ste was a little surprised to find that he was half-wearing a shirt as well, he hadn't noticed Amy put it on him.

Ste's second impulse was to kick himself for caring. He and Josh hated each other, and that was that. He shouldn't give a damn if his rival for Amy's affections was OK or not. Then Josh looked over at him and gave him a tentative smile that was still half terrified, and Ste's second impulse went flying out of the window. He smiled back, trying to look reassuring even though he probably didn't look any better. It was over for both of them. It had to be.

When he could bring himself to look away, part of him wondering just when he'd gone mad, Ste found his gaze drawn back to that same spot on the carpet. Amy was talking quietly to someone, something about cleaning and plastering, but he couldn't bring himself to care. It still couldn't be happening. Nige had said... Nige had looked like...

"Why?"

That was his voice, Ste realised. He looked at Amy, pleading for her to have answers, any answers. "Why did he have to do that? What was he?"

"Some kind of demon." The speaker was standing in the doorway behind Amy. Ste had a confused memory of the man distracting Nige earlier, but he found himself shifting a little, putting himself between Josh and the scary-looking stranger. "I won't know much more until I get out the books and look it up, and saying that never gets any less weird. I'm Xander Harris, by the way."

Ste looked at the hand stretched out in his direction, but made no move to take it. "Demon?" he asked plaintively. "But that's impossible."

"Oh, how I wish. If it's any comfort, my introduction to the wacky world of the supernatural was when my best friend was turned into a vampire."

"You're not helping," Amy snapped. Ste had to force himself not to flinch away from her. "How are you feeling?" she asked him more gently, as Mr Harris mumbled something vaguely apologetic.

Ste didn't intend to say more than he was OK, which he didn't expect to fool Amy for a minute. Then he looked into Amy's eyes, and he knew that all his shame and weakness was written across his face, and he nearly lost it. The crushing fear that had paralysed him when Nige said...

Josh's hand found his again, and Ste clung on for dear life. It was OK, he was told. It was over. He wasn't alone any more; Josh was with him, and Amy, and even the weirdo with the eye-patch, Harris. They weren't going to leave him, and they weren't going to let anything like Nige get at him.

Slowly, Ste got his breathing back under control. "Why us?" he asked, eventually. Why him and Josh? "And Amy, how...?"

Amy looked away from him. That was bad sign, Ste thought, and even if he wasn't still feeling so scared that he didn't think he could stand up on his own, he didn't think that he'd dare confront her after what he'd seen her do.

Harris sighed. "How much do you remember?" he asked gently.

Ste felt a tiny flare of anger at this stranger treating him like he was broken. "Enough," he said, lifting his chin challengingly. "I remember Amy being thrown across the room so hard I thought she was dead, then coming back and beating Nige black and blue, and... and..." He took a breath and forced the words out. "And killing him."

"Damn," Harris said softly. "Most people go into major denial mode when something like this happens. By morning they convince themselves that it was a wild animal attack, or a biker gang, or something like that. You're not going to, are you?"

Trust Ste to be awkward, Josh supplied. Ste gave him a half-hearted glare, understanding the back-handed compliment he was getting. It was Mr Harris he needed to concentrate on. "What have you done to Amy?" he demanded, though his voice sounded feeble even in his ears.

Harris looked at Amy. "Oh no," she said quickly. "You enjoy this bit, you've got a whole speech worked out and everything."

"If Giles ever hears that you said that, my life won't be worth living."

"Answer the bloody question," Ste insisted, clutching onto the dim flicker of anger Harris was provoking. At least he was feeling something, he thought.

"Alright, alright. See, back when us humans were first kicking the demons out..."

Ste listened incredulously as Harris spun a tale that couldn't possibly be true about ancient shamans and the Slayer. Except that what Nige had turned into couldn't possibly be real either, and Ste had seen Nige change with his own eyes. And he'd seen Amy fight too, with a skill and speed and strength that didn't belong to the Amy he knew.

"So you're saying there's this... stuff inside making her fight like that?"

Harris shrugged. "That's about as good as the non-technical explanations get," he said, "and I don't understand the technical explanations, so yeah."

"Can't you get it out of her?"

"Don't I get a say in this?" Amy asked, sounding offended.

Ste couldn't help flinching this time, but he kept his gaze on Harris. Harris shook his head sadly. "Sorry, no, it doesn't work like that. If we could, there's a ten year old girl who'd have been playing Little League for the last couple of years instead of learning how to chase monsters. All we can do is provide the best backup that we can."

Josh swore quietly, and it was Ste's turn to squeeze his hand reassuringly. "And that's it?" he asked, hoping against hope that Harris would break and say this was all some hugely unfunny joke that Nige and Amy had cooked up between them.

"Sorry. Are you up to filling in a couple of the blanks for me about this evening?" Harris asked. It was a blatant attempt to change the subject, but Ste let it slide. He was too busy panicking about what blanks Harris might want to know about. "I'm guessing that whatever you were being intimidated into isn't something I ever want to hear about," Harris continued, ignoring the sigh of relief from both Ste and Josh, "but can you tell me anything about the dead guy in the hallway?"

Apparently he'd been stalking Josh. Ste was still too numb to react to having another dead person in the house while Amy was berating Harris for being so tactless, so he listened while Josh haltingly told him about being grabbed at the previous day. Then he reacted.

"Are you daft or something?" he demanded. "Someone tries to molest you in the park and you don't mention it to anyone? What if..." What if he'd gone after Leah next? What if Josh hadn't got away?

Why was everyone staring at him?

"Wait, you understood all that?" Harris asked.

"I'm not stupid," Ste told him irritably.

"Ste," Amy said carefully, "Josh was talking complete gibberish."

Josh had been talking complete gibberish ever since he got here, at least according to Josh.

"No," Ste said nervously, "no, you're not." He really, really wanted this not to be happening. He knew better, though; as he listened to Josh try to calm him down again, he could hear the individual words slipping away from him, leaving him with just the impression of what Josh was saying.

"Right," Harris said slowly. "Let's go through this one weird thing at a time. You're Josh, right?" Ste nodded when Josh's attempt looked more like a facial tic. "Why don't you tell us everything you know about this guy, and let Ste translate for you. OK?"

Josh explained, and Ste dutifully repeated, all about the crazy guy stalking him and spouting off this lunatic raving. He'd done it twice; once in the park, and once just outside the flat. Then he'd pushed past Nige somehow to follow Josh into the flat. Maybe he'd been trying to warn Josh or protect him, but Josh couldn't tell and it hadn't worked. Nige had killed him.

Harris frowned. "Him talking gibberish like you are now is way too much of a coincidence for me," he said. "Do you feel any different?"

"Apart from being in shock?" Ste asked sharply before Josh could say anything.

"Apart from that." Harris tried not to look embarrassed, but he didn't entirely succeed. "Seriously, have either of you noticed anything different about yourselves? Anything at all, whether it's feeling more confident or an uncontrollable craving for pork."

Ste looked at Josh while Amy gave Harris a quizzical stare. He had no intention of even mentioning that he felt calmer just knowing Josh was here, and it looked like Josh wasn't going to say anything either.

Harris sighed. "I'll get an expert up here as soon as I can," he said. "In the mean time you'd better stick together like best buddies."

"Oh, like that's going to work," Ste told him. "Everyone knows we don't even like each other." He wasn't entirely sure it was true any more, but everyone knew it anyway.

Suddenly he had Harris's full attention. "You know, you're the second person to tell me that in two days, in that exact tone of voice. And I really don't believe in coincidences any more. Something weird is going on."

"Like this isn't weird?" Ste demanded.

"Whatever you were going to say," Amy told Harris before he could get a word in edgewise, "don't."

*******

"Oh come on, can't you be reasonable about this?"

Malachy sounded pretty pissed off, but as far as Jake could tell it was all his own fault. If you don't keep up with your bar tab, you really ought to expect the management to get awkward with you eventually. Even Jack, who was pretty tolerant of how skint a lot of his customers could be, had his limits.

"Sorry," the smartly-dressed gorilla of a doorman said, not sounding the least bit sorry. "Miss Astarte was very clear about it. You don't get backstage until you've paid off your debts. You're welcome in the rest of the club — cash only at the bar — but you don't get any specials."

"Look, it's OK," Jake told Malachy. "I don't mind if we do something else tonight. We can always come back some other time."

"No, we're doing this," Malachy said determinedly. "We've already paid the cover charge." He peeled some notes out of his wallet and passed them to the bouncer. In the low lighting of the club Jake couldn't see how much it had been, but the bouncer didn't seem very satisfied.

"That's enough that I won't worry about your friend," the man said, stepping aside a little.

"I don't think—" Jake began, but Malachy wasn't listening.

"Oh for pity's sake," he exploded. "You go on ahead, Jake. I'll be with you as soon as I've taught Dumbo here how to count."

Malachy pushed him forwards, and the bouncer stepped back to stop Malachy following, forcing Jake to move on or get squashed, and somehow without ever really intending to Jake found himself alone in the private half of the _Pole Star_.

He didn't stay alone for long. Before he could turn round and try to push his way back through the door that had closed behind him, a woman smoothly drifted through a bead-curtained archway. She was short, wearing a red tunic-cum-dress that emphasised her figure without actually showing anything. Her hair was long and black, piled up in complicated whirls that Jake's fingers itched to undo. Her thin face and an odd up-turn to the corner of her eyes gave her an indefinably oriental look that went with her air of mystery and confidence. And she oozed sex like it was going out of fashion.

One look at her and Jake abandoned all thoughts that this evening was going to be a waste of time.

"Welcome," she said. Her voice was as smooth as warm honey, spiced with a lilt that Jake couldn't place. It fitted the rest of her perfectly, he thought. "Please follow me," she continued, turning deeper into the building.

"Oh yes," Jake murmured, following along. The view from behind was just as enchanting as the view from in front. He was glad that he'd let Malachy talk him into this now.

They came to a small, softly lit, softly furnished room. Two comfortable chairs were placed at the side of the room, looking out across the remaining space. Between them was a low table with tissues and tube of lubricating gel set out on it; all mod cons, Jake thought. He grinned.

The woman steered Jake into one of the chairs, leading him forwards and then unashamedly stepping into his personal space until he had to step back and sit or grab her — and somehow she made it clear that grabbing wasn't allowed just yet. "My name is Astarte," she breathed. She looked expectantly at him.

It took him a moment to get his mouth in gear. "Jake," he said, "I'm Jake."

She favoured him with a slight smile. "It is my pleasure to dance for you tonight, Jake," she said. She glanced at the empty chair with a look of unmistakable disdain and continued, "Your friend must learn to value me properly before I will accept his appreciation again. Do you wish to appreciate me, Jake?" She stepped back and spun around, slipping gracefully into a pose that revealed little but promised much.

As far as Jake was concerned, anyone who didn't want to appreciate this lady needed their head examining. He said as much, adding that Malachy obviously needed to sort his priorities out.

Again Astarte gave him that little smile, but then she unwound her pose and drifted across to stand in front of the other seat, one finger pensively tapping her lower lip. "His confusion is our problem," she said. "I will not tolerate an empty chair."

Jake frowned. He didn't particularly want to share his time back here, even with Malachy really, especially if it turned into what she was half-promising. He never liked sharing, and he wasn't going to start now. He drew breath to tell her this wasn't a bad thing, but she whirled on him before he could say anything.

"Do not presume," she said, face inscrutable but suddenly unwelcoming. "My dance is not for a single viewer. There must be two, unless you could be jealous of a chair."

"For you I'd try," Jake said gallantly. Inwardly he was fuming; how dare she tell him how it was going to be? He was the one paying her — with Malachy's money, admittedly — so she should be doing what he wanted. He could tell she wouldn't understand that now, though, she was far too proud and sure of herself. If he came back here — if she was half as good as she promised — he'd have to figure out a way of getting her to realise that it would work better if she did things his way.

She stared at him for long enough to make it clear his gallantry hadn't actually won him any points, then nodded slightly. "Please make yourself comfortable," she said, "I shall return quickly."

Jake settled back in his chair and tried to squash his irritation down. He was supposed to be enjoying himself here; Malachy might have a rather direct idea of fun, but at least he had been trying to cheer Jake up. With all the stress of Craig being around and... and all, Jake needed all the cheering up he could get.

True to her word, Astarte didn't make him wait. It couldn't have been two minutes before she returned, a young man trailing along behind her. He wasn't any older than Craig, Jake thought, though they looked completely different. The kid was blond, taller and sharp-faced, and he followed Astarte in like an adoring puppy. Jake expected him to start drooling any moment.

Astarte manoeuvred the boy into the other chair and posed against him in a manner that had Jake instantly jealous. "This is Conrad," she told Jake. Before Jake could formulate a reply to cut this Conrad down to size, she danced the few short steps between them and posed against Jake in a much more satisfactory way. "This is Jake," she told Conrad. The boy looked at the pair of them, blushed furiously and looked away. Jake smiled smugly.

She whirled away from him again, taking up position where both of them could see her easily. "I dance for your pleasure," she said, swaying sinuously as a soft music started up in the background. "Take what pleasure you wish from it." Her lascivious look left little doubt in Jake's mind as to just what pleasure he was supposed to take.

Then she started to dance in earnest. Afterwards, Jake never could remember just what she did, or exactly when the different pieces of her costume mysteriously detached. Her motions played on his emotions, and the part of his brain that wasn't totally enraptured with her had to admit that she had been right about playing to the two of them. This wasn't a pole dance or lap dance or anything like that as Jake dimly understood it; it was just incredible, that was as much as he could say about it.

Unfortunately it didn't seem to be doing anything for him physically.

Jake couldn't understand it. He wasn't really up to a lot of thinking while he was watching Astarte, but he knew that this was one hell of an erotic dance that he was really enjoying. So why wasn't he getting it up? Last night he could understand; he hadn't been in a great mood in the first place, and he didn't remember any of the women being much cop either as dancers or as lookers, so an off night was perfectly understandable. This, on the other hand, was beginning to get worrying.

It wasn't until Astarte, her costume down to ribbons and movement and her hair now free and hanging to her waist, glided over to all but rub herself over Conrad that Jake felt any reaction at all. The kid couldn't take his eyes off her, and seemed halfway scared of what was going on; Jake watched him shrink back in his chair as Astarte murmured something to him. Then his eyes flew wide open, and Jake realised that she'd unbuttoned Conrad's jeans and was slowly pulling his fly open. Jake felt his cock twitch at last; oh yes, he thought, sometimes plain old porn is what the doctor ordered.

Jake looked on with growing interest as Astarte gracefully slid Conrad's dick into view. She stroked lightly, the movements all part of her dance, and Jake felt himself hardening as the kid whimpered. "Touch yourself," she said, loudly enough for Jake to hear. She smiled as Conrad took hold of his erection, slowly started to jerk off, closed his eyes and moaned.

Not being an idiot, Jake grabbed for the tube on the table and squirted some gel into the palm of his hand. He wanted to be ready when she helped him get more comfortable.

Conrad opened his eyes at the small clatter as Jake replaced the tube on the table. He looked at Jake, then the tube, then Astarte, as if he was seeking permission. Jake mentally revised his estimate of Conrad's age down by a few years; either that or he was a really late bloomer.

Astarte gave Conrad the tiniest of nods. Before the kid could do anything she whirled over to Jake, her enigmatic smile promising him the same treatment. He leaned forward, trying for a more satisfying contact than the teasing she was putting him through, but she was too quick for him. Every move he made was mirrored in her dance; her arms, her breasts, even her hair and the trailing ribbons of her costume were always just out of his reach. Her touch, when it eventually came, was so delicate that he missed it at first. He didn't realise that she had unbuttoned his trousers until she was teasing his zip down. Then she was easing his underwear out of the way and stroking him, and it was all as great as Jake had imagined it would be except that it wasn't doing anything for him. Oh, he was pretty hard, but he wasn't getting any harder. Come on, he told himself as he smiled insincerely at Astarte; your dick is in the hands of a beautiful woman, the least you could do is show her some appreciation.

She gave him an inscrutable look, and Jake had the distinct feeling that she wasn't fooled by his smile at all. Still, she told him to touch himself in just the same way that she had told Conrad, and once he had himself firmly in hand she stepped back and danced for them both.

As the remains of her dress fluttered to the floor and she stood there before them, leaving nothing at all to the imagination and practically screaming sex, Jake tried to get himself back into the groove. It was weird; he liked what he saw, he knew exactly what he wanted to do with the woman if only she'd let him, but it didn't seem to be affecting him. He was stroking himself furiously just to keep hard, and he wasn't even close to coming.

Maybe, he thought slightly wildly, maybe it was just that other women didn't do it for him any more after Becca. And Nancy, of course. He closed his eyes briefly and thought of Becca, of their wedding day, of how happy they'd been together, of how much she had meant to him. It didn't seem to help.

When he opened his eyes again, Astarte was crouched on the far side of Conrad's chair. She was still swaying rhythmically as she whispered sweet nothings in his ear. The kid didn't seem to be having any trouble keeping it up, Jake thought sourly; he was breathing heavily and looked a bit glassy eyed, but then Astarte was stroking his cock again. Jake was surprised by how erotic he found the scene; he was certainly having an easier time of jerking himself off as he watched the pair of them. It looked like it was porn he needed — sex, even the stylised sex they were having — not just a woman, no matter how good-looking she was. He must be getting old.

Apparently satisfied with Conrad's progress — the kid wasn't going to last much longer as far as Jake could tell — Astarte gracefully stood and swayed her way over to Jake's side. Jake smiled at her, more genuinely this time, and did his best to surrender to what he knew was coming. Sure enough, she gently but firmly took over ministering to his cock, and began to whisper meaningless compliments about his manliness. Unfortunately it wasn't working; despite all her skill, and even fixing an image of her and Conrad firmly in his mind, Astarte's talented fingers weren't bringing him any closer to the edge.

Then Conrad moaned. Reflexively, Jake looked across at him. The kid's face was flushed, and he was breathing rapidly and erratically while the hand wrapped around his dick pumped away. His other hand had sneaked under his shirt. All in all, he was right on the edge.

Jake felt his dick sit up and take interest. He looked back at Astarte quickly, trying to mask the horror he felt. She couldn't have missed what just happened, and she was bound to think... well, she was bound to think wrong.

She was giving him a look even more inscrutable than the ones she'd been favouring him with before, pretty much confirming Jake's fears. "Look at him," she ordered softly.

"I'm not—" Jake began, but Astarte was having none of it.

"Look at him," she said more loudly, and reached up one delicate hand to force his head round.

Jake looked. Conrad looked back in confusion, apparently just with it enough to hear her. He was worrying his lip in an effort to keep control, and Jake felt himself losing it at the sight. He didn't want the scene to affect him, but his body seemed to have other ideas.

"So that is what you want," Astarte said, in the same honeyed tones she'd used earlier to tell Jake how big and strong he was.

"No," he managed to gasp out, but it was barely more than a whimper. Everything that was going on was wrong according to every standard Jake had, but he couldn't even sound convincing to himself. "No, please, I'm not like that..."

"You wish it was his hand doing this," she continued serenely, teasing Jake still further with an artful flick of her wrist. Jake couldn't tell whether that was a statement or a question, and he was much too far gone with fear and desire to care. He didn't want to look at Conrad's hand, still working busily away, but once the thought popped into his head he couldn't not look, and everything seemed to be spiralling out of his control. The best protest he could raise was an inarticulate moan.

"Watch him," Astarte whispered, and as if on cue Conrad gave up the unequal struggle and came. Jake's moan tapered off into a whimper; Conrad had been staring straight at him the whole time, and the look in his eyes wasn't something that Jake was ever going to forget. He was fighting for control now, fighting and losing. As Conrad finally broke eye contact and looked down at his come-covered hand as if it belong to someone else, the tattered remnants of Jake's rational mind were overwhelmed and he hurtled over the edge and into orgasm.

When he could think straight again Astarte was standing in front of him, regarding him coolly. She was still naked, but Jake wasn't surprised any more to find that didn't anything for him. He could see motion out of the corner of his eye, but he didn't dare look across at Conrad. Not any more.

Astarte moved as gracefully as when she had been dancing to snatch up a tissue, and wiped away tears that Jake hadn't been aware that he'd cried. He felt a whole new wave of humiliation sweep over him.

"I'm not—" he managed before she silenced him again with a finger on the lips.

"Your desires are sick," she said without rancour. Jake couldn't disagree; it was all he could do not to throw up at the thought of what he'd just done. He tried to make himself angry that she was saying this in front of Conrad, even though the kid would have had to be blind and deaf not to have noticed, but he couldn't convince himself.

"Do you wish to be made well?" she asked. There was a hint of challenge in her voice, as if Jake wanted to be a pervert. A hint of anger cut through his shame at last, too late; she knew, and there was no taking that back, and he didn't want to be this thing that he loathed. He didn't even want to think about losing control around Craig.

Astarte seemed to interpret his jerky nod as a plea for help. "Return tomorrow evening," she said simply, handing Jake the tissue. "It will be a hard road, but I have cured others with twisted hearts before."

Jake tried to take some comfort from that, but it was hard. If he'd become... if he'd fallen that far, he wasn't sure he deserved to be cured.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh and Ste recover, while Xander meets some more parents.

Josh woke suddenly, sitting up in confusion and alarm. It didn't help that he wasn't in his own room; he was sleeping on a mattress in his brother's room so that Gilly and Beth could have somewhere to themselves. Fortunately Rhys seemed to be already up, so Josh was able to get himself under control before he had to deal with anything else.

Maybe it had all been a nightmare, he thought as he calmed his racing heart. Maybe he'd just got drunk or something, and he was remembering his dreams instead. In which case he never wanted to get drunk again if that was the kind of dream he got. What a night, he said to himself, or at least tried to.

"Archaic on hatstand."

Bugger.

Josh dressed slowly, trying to figure out what the hell he was going to do. At least school was finished for the holidays, so he didn't have that to worry about. All the same there was no way he could spend an entire day at home without saying anything. His mum at least was bound to demand an answer to something, and the moment he opened his mouth there would be uproar. The only people who had any idea what was going on were Ste, Amy and Mr Harris, and of them only Ste could actually understand him.

OK, he thought to himself as he combed his hair, he had to go round to Ste's until they figured out how to fix this, whatever this was. Now how the heck was he going to get out of the house?

In the end he just rushed through, not giving anyone time to stop him. He hurried down the stairs and into the kitchen, swiped a piece of toast off his brother's plate and stuffed it in his mouth.

"Watch your manners, young man," his mother called over Rhys's protests. "Where do you think you're going?"

He was off out and he'd be back later, Josh shouted back to her. No one seemed surprised by the incomprehensible gibberish, but then he did have a mouth full of toast so no one expected to understand him.

He managed to avoid meeting anyone that he might have had to talk to by taking every back route he could think of. It took him quite a while to make it to Amy's flat that way, but it was better than bumping into Michaela, say; she'd be dead suspicious if he didn't stop to talk to her, though Josh supposed there was always the chance that she'd talk so much that she'd never notice him keeping his mouth shut.

Josh brooded as he walked. Maybe it wasn't the most useful thing to do with his time, but he reckoned he'd earned it by this point. There weren't many people that he thought less of than Ste — in fact there probably weren't any now that Nige was, yes, well — and yet here he was voluntarily going to spend an entire day in Ste's company. It wasn't fair. It couldn't be Amy who understood him, or Fletch, or anyone else that he actually liked. No, he was going to have to rely on Ste not to deliberately mistranslate him, he was going to have to put up with Ste's idea of being reasonable, and everyone was going to expect him to be grateful for it.

Ste opened the door for him with a smile, but Josh could tell he was faking it. Ste was only just holding things together. Not that Josh could blame him after what they'd been through, but he'd hoped that Ste would feel calmer for having been protected by Amy all night. He should have known better; the universe clearly had it in for him. Ste was scared, and a scared Ste lashed out anything nearby just to make himself feel better, and guess who was going to be stuck nearby all day?

Marvellous, Josh thought sourly, pasting on a fake smile of his own. He was acutely aware that they were visible from the road and he really didn't want word to get back to his friends about where he was. Could he come in, he asked less politely than he might have.

"Yeah," Ste said quietly. He stared at Josh in a really disconcerting way, not actually moving aside to let Josh past. Josh stared pointedly at the small gap between Ste and the door.

"Oh, sorry, come on in," Ste said, and Josh almost let himself be fooled into believing that he was sincere. Ste stepped out of the way, calling "Josh's arrived" back into the interior.

Stepping inside, Josh immediately felt an urge to turn and flee. In his mind's eye he could still see the corpse on the kitchen floor, and oh God was that stain blood? Amy must have mopped the floor but she'd missed a bit, and Josh couldn't look away from it.

A hand on his arm broke him out of a rising spiral of panic. "What?" Ste asked quietly, and Ste acting as if he was concerned was almost as much of a cause for worry as the stain.

Nothing, Josh told him. He was OK.

Ste didn't look like he believed that for a moment. He frowned in the direction Josh had been looking, then gave a weak little laugh. "Coffee," he said. "I spilled my coffee."

Josh didn't know whether to thank him or hit him. He was saved from having to decide when Amy came out of the bedroom, practically bounded over and hugged him. "Josh," she said happily, "how are you feeling?" She paused, suddenly uncertain. "Sorry, that was a stupid question."

They stood there awkwardly for a moment, until Ste broke the moment. "Hey," he complained, "don't I get a hug too?"

Josh looked at him sharply. There had been an odd note in Ste's voice that might have been jealousy, but while he pasted on a smile again Ste didn't seem any happier when Amy hugged him and gave him a kiss too for good measure. What was going on here?

"Anyway," Amy was saying, "I was just going to make a cup of tea for Mr Harris. Would you like one too?"

Josh could have kissed her for that, even with Ste standing around behaving so oddly, but his stomach got in on the act by rumbling loudly.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," Amy said with a twinkle in her eye.

Ste wasn't laughing. "Have you had anything to eat yet?" he demanded. Defensively, Josh explained that he'd grabbed some toast at home. Ste was unimpressed. "Just a piece of toast? You call that breakfast? Come on."

Moments later Josh found himself sat at the kitchen table while Ste grumpily banged a frying pan on the stove. Amy regarded her boyfriend quietly for a moment, then sighed and filled the kettle. She didn't notice Ste flinch as she brushed past him to pull more mugs out of the cupboard, but Josh did. He supposed that he couldn't blame Ste for being nervous about being touched, not given what Nige had planned for him. Josh was twitchy enough himself, and he hadn't been facing half of what Ste had.

Amy kept up a bright one-sided conversation as she made the tea and the smells of cooking filled the air. Josh heard all about how Leah was getting on, the decorations that Ste had managed to find going really cheap, and Amy's hopes for making this Christmas really special for Leah.

"I know she's too young to understand," she said, putting a brimming mug of tea down in front of Josh, "but I want to make it exciting and fun for her so that she'll remember it next year. You don't think I'm being silly, do you?"

Josh dutifully told her that she wasn't being silly, not when she was doing it for Leah. He heard Ste snort as he worked away at the stove, but Amy didn't seem to notice. She was looking sadly at Josh again.

"I'm sorry, I still can't understand a word you say," she told him.

Josh closed his eyes and ducked his head. Maybe it was just having the tea to wrap his hands around, but that didn't bother him as much now as when he'd woken up.

When he opened his eyes again, Amy was smiling perkily. Josh recognised the signs of her thinking he needed cheering up, which was kind of true so he didn't stop her when she started talking. "Oh, did I say Mr Harris has come round? Believe it or not he's fixing the damage we did last night. Some of the plaster came off the wall where I hit it, and he's putting new plaster on."

Interior decorating and demonology seemed like an odd combination to Josh, and he said as much. Ste laughed, not looking up from the frying pan. "That's what I said too," he said. "What's someone like him doing learning a trade?"

"It beat the hell out of flipping burgers," Harris said, wiping his hands on a rag as he came into the kitchen. "Count yourself lucky: Buffy's Watcher was a tweed-wearing, tea-drinking librarian. Mm, thanks," he said as she handed him a mug of tea. He froze for a moment, then looked at them carefully. "Damn it, I'm turning into Giles. If you ever tell any of my friends that I drank tea of my own free will, I'll deny it."

"You can't be finished already," Amy said, apparently unfazed by the weird American.

"There wasn't that much to do," Harris protested. "It's not like I had to re-glaze the windows or anything. Just give the plaster a couple of hours to dry, then I can paint over it and you'll never know the difference. That smells good," he said to Ste hopefully.

"Make your own," Ste told him bluntly.

"Steven!"

"Alright, alright," Ste said soothingly to Amy, "I'll do it in a minute." He put a bacon sandwich on a plate in front of Josh. "Here, get your laughing gear around that."

Josh bit into the sandwich and almost moaned. His mum didn't often make him anything this wildly unhealthy, but there and then it was exactly what he'd needed. Hot, fatty and covered in brown sauce. If Tony Hutchinson ever wanted to find out how to make the perfect bacon butty, he said out loud, all he had to do was ask Ste.

Ste didn't do more than duck his head from where he was frying again, but Josh knew his compliment had gone down well enough. He felt better for making the effort to make Ste feel better, which made him confused all over again. What Ste had said last night was true; the two of them didn't like each other, and they were only putting up with each other now because they had to. Quite how raising Ste's spirits had become even a little bit important to him he just didn't understand.

Harris and Amy meanwhile seemed to have started in on talking about repainting the entire bedroom, all at the expense of the organisation that Harris worked for. "A couple of cans of paint isn't going to break the bank," Harris assured Amy. "The Watchers' Council owns the houses that the other girls live in, so it's not like it's something we don't do anyway."

"We don't need your charity," Ste said, not bothering to turn round from the stove.

"It's not charity," Harris said blithely, ignoring the slightly alarmed looks Amy was sending him. "We're just picking up the extra costs that come with saving the world every now and then. It wouldn't be fair to make you do that as well as everything else, would it?"

Ste didn't say anything, but Josh could tell from the set of his shoulders that he wasn't exactly happy. He could understand why; Ste always made such a big thing about being the one to provide for Amy and Leah, and Josh wouldn't have been comfortable himself if he'd been forced to back down on that.

Eventually Ste handed a bacon butty over to Harris. "So what about Josh?" he asked. "What's the matter with him?"

Harris shrugged while he chewed and swallowed. "Not sure," he said eventually. "I'd have just written it off as shock if you didn't understand him. None of the books I've got here even hint at a Timefax[0] demon being able to do that kind of thing, but I couldn't bring much with me. I've got some researchers in London working on it though, and Willow's promised to get here tomorrow to look him over in person."

Tomorrow? How was he supposed to keep this hidden from his family for that long, Josh asked.

Ste translated, adding "Who's this Willow person anyway? Is he any good?"

" _She's_ my best friend since we were in kindergarten," Harris said, briefly looking very pissed off with Ste. "These days she's probably the most powerful witch in the world. If she can't fix this, no one can."

Ste held Harris's gaze challengingly. While it made Josh happy to have someone sticking up for him, even Ste, he was nervous about going up against someone who was supposed to be looking out for Amy. Harris spent a lot of time smiling and trying to be one of the boys, but Josh got the impression he really didn't want to see the man angry.

The staring match was broken when Leah's grizzling could be heard from the bedroom. Ste instantly stopped paying attention to Harris and left the kitchen, returning moments later carrying a now happy Leah.

"We will fix this, you know," Harris told Josh seriously. Josh decided to believe him. The alternative was living his life with Ste as an interpreter, and that... well, he'd never hear the end of it.

Harris finished his sandwich as Ste and Amy cooed over Leah. "So, paint," he said. "Anyone want to come shopping with me?"

Amy took one look at the brightly-coloured shirt Harris was wearing and winced. "We're coming," she said firmly.

"Ah," Ste said in disagreement. "Leah's being a bit fussy, and it's a long way for us to take her. Tell you what, why don't Josh and I stay here and look after her while you keep Mr Harris company?"

Amy frowned at Ste. Ste looked over at Josh, who tried to smile reassuringly. Amy frowned harder at Ste, who gave her an earnest look in return. There was some unspoken conversation going on between them, but Josh had no idea what it was really about.

"All right," Amy said eventually. "We'll try not to be long."

Ste gave her a big grin. "Great," he said. "Oh, and if you're passing the shops, we need some more bacon."

Ste and Josh moved to the living room as Amy and Harris left. Josh watched Ste play with Leah, making the little girl giggle. He really loved her, Josh thought; it was as if she was the only thing that existed for him right then. Ste didn't seem to hold anything back as he entertained her, laughing and joking and doing anything he could to put a smile on her face. It made Josh feel oddly jealous, seeing them so happy.

It was only when Leah was happily playing with her toys and Ste sat back to rest that the cracks began to show. Josh watched as Ste's smile slowly drained away, leaving fear and tiredness written clearly across his face. Feelings Josh knew well; he'd woken up with them, and now he wasn't being distracted they were back full force. He reached out to touch Ste's arm reassuringly.

Ste jumped at the touch, looking as petrified as he had last night for just a moment before covering it up again. Badly, in Josh's opinion. It was OK, he told Ste, he felt just the same.

Ste practically crumbled in front of him. It scared Josh to see someone as brazen as Ste let his guard down entirely, letting all that fear show plainly while he gripped Josh's hand hard enough to hurt. He found himself doing the same thing, showing Ste how scared he was still because no one else could possibly understand.

"It's just..." Ste started to say before cutting himself off with a weak little laugh. "She's our Amy, and I can't help worrying..."

She could handle herself now, Josh pointed out. She'd never let anyone hurt Ste, any more than he'd ever have let anyone hurt her.

Ste shook his head. "It's not that. She killed someone last night. What if she mistook you for something... else?"

Or mistook Ste for something, Josh realised with a shock. Ste was scared for himself as much as anything. She'd never hurt Ste, he told him as convincingly as he could, just like he'd never hurt her if the situation was reversed, no matter what. She was still their Amy.

"Is she?" Ste asked, and Josh could hear the heartbreak in his voice. "Will she ever really be our Amy again?"

******

Ste wasn't normally one for worrying about what people thought of him. Once he was past the point of people realising that he wasn't a pushover, and that if they messed with him and his he'd make them pay for it, he really didn't see the point. Life threw crap at him and he was careful about what crap he threw back, that was all there was to it.

Besides, most people were really thick about that sort of thing. They thought that actually using a hole you'd found in their system was cheating, or that not being stupid enough to hang around and be caught by the police was being a coward.

Right now, in his own eyes Ste was definitely being a coward.

He and Josh had come to an uneasy truce, it seemed. While Ste wouldn't go so far as to say he enjoyed hanging out with the guy, at least he didn't make Ste nervous. Plus he seemed to get what Ste was going through right now, and didn't call him on it when Ste jumped at every unexpected sound. Then again, Ste didn't call him on trying to fade into the background whenever he was asked a direct question, so maybe Josh had belatedly discovered that "You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours" actually worked.

Whatever the reason, the two of them had spent an hour playing with Leah that had actually left Ste happy enough to forget about Nige and last night for a while. That had stopped the moment Amy had returned, Harris trailing behind her, and Ste found himself having to force the smile to stay on his face.

He loved Amy, but now she scared the hell out of him and he wasn't going to think about that any more. It had hurt all the more because she seemed so happy, chatting away about how nice it would be to do some decorating around their flat and whether Mr Harris could fix that cupboard with the wonky door while he was at it. She looked happier than she had in quite a while, which didn't help Ste's feelings of inadequacy either.

When Josh had asked if Leah would be OK with paint fumes in the air, Ste could have hugged him. It was running away and he knew, but in a moment he had volunteered Josh and himself to take Leah out for some fresh air until the paint dried. Amy had looked a bit askance, and Harris had pinned him with a very serious gaze and asked if he was sure he was feeling up to it, but he and Josh had put on their very best cheerful smiles and got away with it.

It was only once they were safely outside, Leah all bundled up against the cold, that Ste even thought about anyone seeing Josh and him together. Josh seemed more worried by the thought of his friends seeing him at all. Ste wasn't fussed about that — he knew he could brazen his way past Michaela and Sasha, and you only had to point Fletch at something shiny to get rid of him. All the same he let Josh talk him into spending their time in the park, where Josh could hide behind the shrubbery if he thought he saw someone.

Ste laughed at him when Josh actually did dive behind a bush, thinking they'd seen Michaela coming. He made a game of it with Leah as Josh shame-facedly reappeared, persuading Josh to hide and jump out again and again as his baby girl giggled. Somehow this stopped being a way of making Josh look stupid after a while, and Ste found himself popping out from behind hedges to surprise another laugh from Leah while Josh talked happy nonsense to her.

It felt weird when he realised what he was doing. Actually no, that wasn't right; what felt weird was that it didn't feel weird. Him and Josh fussing over Leah as a team, keeping her entertained until she fell asleep in her pushchair, that felt like the most natural thing in the world to Ste. He wasn't really sure what to make of it. When it was him and Amy, that he understood; he loved Amy, so the two of them fitting together like that made sense. Fitting together with Josh for any reason at all was something Ste would have sworn would never happen only a few days ago.

He looked up to see Josh looking at him closely, and belatedly realised that he'd been brooding since Leah had quietened down. How was he doing, Josh asked, a whole slew of questions rolled into one.

"I'm fine," he said, and was surprised to discover that it wasn't that much of a lie. There in the weak winter sunshine, last night's events had an unreal quality. It still scared him rigid just remembering what had happened, but there and then, with Josh, looking after Leah, Ste felt as safe as he ever had. "How about you?" he asked Josh.

Josh claimed to be fine too, but Ste noticed him hunching his shoulders. "You're cold," he decided. Josh disagreed, but had to admit that something was up. It was hard to describe, apparently. Something like having the nagging feeling that Josh had forgotten something. Privately Ste thought that Josh worried too much anyway, but he couldn't exactly blame him in the current circumstances.

"Now that the little 'un's quietened down," he said, "why don't we go and have a coffee? It'll be warm in _Gnosh_ , and we can always pick one of the tables out of the way so no one will spot us."

Josh looked dubious, so Ste put on his best pleading expression. Josh smiled, shook his head and gave in. Ste grinned back. He was getting the hang of distracting Josh, he reckoned. Then he remembered how much money he didn't have in his wallet.

"Er, you'll have to buy."

_Il Gnosh_ wasn't quite as busy as Ste had expected, though that didn't stop Tony from running round like a mad thing. He certainly didn't seem to notice that Ste and Josh walked in together if he noticed Josh at all, which was fine by Ste. He waited by the counter while Josh manoeuvred Leah's pushchair next to one the few available tables, confident that they weren't going to draw attention here.

Josh actually smiled at him when Ste deposited a brimming cup of coffee in front of him. "There you go," he said, a bit disconcerted. He wasn't used to anyone other than Amy being glad to have him around, especially not Josh. He blamed that for the way he was grinning back, and the fact that he gave Josh the change from his tenner without having to be prompted. "Warmer now?" he asked.

Josh sipped his coffee, nodded, and tried to make out again that he hadn't really been cold in the first place.

Ste looked askance at him but let it slide. A minute or two later he was regretting that; he couldn't think of anything he wanted to talk about with Josh, at least not where anyone had any chance of overhearing them. Josh seemed happy to sip his coffee and stay silent, but Ste was beginning to feel awkward.

Mercifully, a distraction duly arrived. Ste heard Tony shout, "Could you please give those of us who are working some room to cook in!" He turned around to see Dominic Reilly edging his way out of the kitchens, and had to laugh.

"Watch out," he said a bit too loudly, gesturing at Dom's full legionary uniform, "the Roman army's here."

"You may mock," Dom said good-naturedly, "but if it wasn't for the Romans we wouldn't be here."

Because, Ste filled in for himself, Chester started off as a big Roman military town. Everyone who'd ever been to school here knew that. "Good thing Asterix wasn't here to stop them, then."

Josh rolled his eyes at the weak joke, but Dom just grinned some more. He did guided tours, Ste belatedly remembered, which was probably why he was all dressed up now. Evidently he'd heard that one before. "There were plenty of local druids, but somehow they never got the recipe for the magic potion." He paused. "Not that magic potion really existed or anything..."

This time Ste rolled his eyes as Dom ruined a perfectly good come-back. "They had a fight with the druids round here?" he asked, not all that interested but grateful to have something safe to talk about.

"They had to fight off the druids everywhere," Dom told them, slipping into lecture mode. Josh actually looked interested, Ste noted with amusement. "The druids hated the Romans for taking away their political power, and the Romans hated the druids for doing human sacrifices. At least that's what Julius Caesar claimed."

Josh opened his mouth to ask something, which couldn't end well. Ste interrupted with the first thing to spring to mind: "Yeah, but you said about local druids?"

"Dom," Tony called from the counter, "don't you have somewhere else to be?"

Dom rolled his eyes at his big brother, but started for the door all the same. "How do you think the village got it's name?" he called back to Ste and Josh, grinning at their blank looks. "'The Place of the Holy Oaks'?"

Interesting, Josh murmured as Dom left.

Ste looked at him. "You're hopeless," he told Josh, but he smiled when he said it.

Leah chose that moment wake up and start crying. "Ah, what's the matter with my little girl, then?" Ste said, lifting her out of the pushchair and holding her up where she could see him. He had a suspicion that he recognised that particular noise, and he took a cautious sniff. "Phew, what a smelly nappy! Who's got a smelly nappy then?"

Leah laughed and reached out for him. Ste did a quick inventory: he had spare nappies stowed in the pushchair, and he was pretty sure there was a baby-changing table in the toilets here. No problem.

He looked up to see Josh looking at him strangely, and froze momentarily. He'd almost forgotten about Josh. He couldn't leave him here on his own, anything might happen. Tony was a great one for coming over and bothering customers when they wanted to be alone, and right now Josh couldn't even smile and nod reliably.

"Right," he said, "time to introduce you to the mysteries of nappy changing."

The look of panic on Josh's face was something to treasure.

*******

"So Josh is your ex?" Mr Harris asked. He was paying more attention to the cupboard door that he was fixing than to Amy, so she was pretty sure he was just making conversation.

"Yes," was all she replied.

"Seems like a nice enough guy."

"Uh-huh."

"Is that why you broke up with him?"

"What? What do you mean?"

Mr Harris turned to give her a knowing look. "Call me cynical if you like, but I've been told that nice guys are boring. After all, from what I've heard your current boyfriend isn't exactly whiter than white."

Amy felt her cheeks turning red with embarrassment. "It's not like that," she said hotly. "Ste tries hard, he really does, but nobody ever gives him a break. He loves me."

"I never said he didn't," Mr Harris said equably.

"And Josh was the one who broke up with me. He couldn't cope when he found out Leah was my daughter."

"He didn't know while you were dating?" Mr Harris looked surprised at that, and maybe a bit disappointed too.

"Mum insisted that we kept it quiet," she explained defensively. "Nobody knew I'd been pregnant, so we pretended Leah was hers."

Harris shook his head. "I swear every time I think I've heard the weirdest thing that's happened around here, someone tops it. I guess finding out must have been a shock for him."

Amy thought about what he'd been asking and put two and two together. "No," she said firmly, "you do not get to vet my boyfriends. I get enough of that from my dad; if he had his way he'd lock me up at home and never let me see a boy again!"

Harris raised his hands in surrender quickly. "I wouldn't dream of it," he said. "Most of my friends since high school have been women, and all of them are tougher than me. I know I don't get a say in their relationships any more than they do in mine. Not that that stops them trying to have a say in mine, but you know what I mean." He paused, then continued more quietly, "How is he taking it?"

Amy thought about last night, about the way that Ste had shied away from her in bed. "He's scared," she said seriously. "I think they both are, not that either of them would admit it. Ste's jumpy though. He's not a touchy-feely kind of guy at the best of times, but every time I've gone near him this morning he's jumped a mile."

"You're worried about him," Harris said.

"I'm worried about what he'll do," Amy corrected him. "All the boys I've ever known seem to do something stupid whenever they're scared."

"On behalf of my entire gender, hey!" Harris said with a grin. He looked thoughtful for a moment. "I don't think you need to worry too much," he continued. "He seemed to have his hands full looking after Josh, at least from what I saw earlier."

"We should worry," Amy countered. "Ste wasn't kidding when he said they didn't like each other. Any time they meet in the village they always sound like they're a minute away from a punch-up."

"They weren't like that earlier, they were doing more of a united front against the weird. Remember when you were trying to get Josh to repeat words and Ste told you off?"

Ste had stood between her and Josh, she remembered. She'd been surprised at how upset he was, but then Josh had put his hand on Ste's shoulder and said something, and Ste had calmed down and made a joke of it when she apologised. She had wondered about it briefly, but Ste had distracted her with Leah and taken Josh into the kitchen. It had almost felt like the times that he'd stood up to her dad for her.

"I'm losing him, aren't I?" she asked sadly.

"Maybe not," Harris said gently. "He's had a hell of a shock, you know. Who he can trust, who's his friend, who he's supposed to protect, none of it's the same as it was yesterday. Give him time, let him get used to you being a Slayer. Who knows, maybe it'll bring you closer."

He was trying to be reassuring, but Amy wasn't entirely convinced even he believed what he was saying. She shook her head sadly. "It's always been a really big thing for Ste that he's looking after me, protecting me. You heard what he was like when you said about paying for the repairs."

Mr Harris nodded. "Yeah, I remember. Being the adult, paying the bills. Not being my father," he added almost quietly enough for Amy not to hear. She pretended not to anyway, but she filed away the thought that Ste and Mr Harris might have more in common than they thought. "Now you're the one protecting him," he continued, "and the Council is ready to pay for stuff. It's going to take him a while to figure out that he still fits in the same place he did before."

Amy smiled weakly, but she wondered if that was true. Did Ste really fit in any more? He'd proved himself by providing for her, but now there was a whole chunk of her life he couldn't provide for.

The doorbell startled them both.

Amy pasted on a smile and went to the door, while Mr Harris gave the cupboard one last poke and put down his screwdriver. "Hello?" she said to the small, dowdy woman standing there.

"Hello. Is Steven in?" the woman asked hesitantly. "I'm his mother."

Amy was too shocked to speak for a moment. She had never met Ste's mum before, and had barely even thought about her beyond wishing she'd stopped Ste's step-dad from beating him up. "No," she said, then kicked herself for being so impolite. "I mean, he's taken Leah out for some fresh air, but he should be back soon. Would you like to come in and wait for him?"

The woman smiled gratefully at her. "Thanks, love," she said. "You must be Amy."

Amy nodded as she let her in. Then she caught sight of Xander. "Oh, and this is my friend—"

"Xander Harris," he interrupted, grinning and sticking a hand out. "I'm pleased to meet any friend of Amy's, particularly a lovely lady like you."

He was laying it on a bit thick, Amy thought, but Ste's mum lapped it up. "Nice to meet you too, Mr Harris," she said, shaking his hand and smiling girlishly, a sight that made Amy feel slightly ill. "Are you an American?"

"Born and bred in California," Xander admitted cheerfully. He was definitely laying it on thick, making the most of his accent. "But please, call me Xander. When people call me 'Mr Harris' I keep looking round for my dad, and trust me, him being here would not be of the good."

"Oh all right," Mrs Hay said, looking slightly overcome and very flattered, "but only if you call me Pauline."

Amy watched with a bit of awe as Harris entertained Ste's mum. He spun her a tale about "doing the usual clueless tourist thing" and getting lost, and Ste and Amy putting him straight, with plenty of jokes at his own expense, and somehow or other he made it sound believable. It was weird in a way; Harris talked more than anyone Amy knew except Michaela, and he still managed to make everyone overlook him, like he was harmless. She wondered if it was magic or something, despite his claims that he and magic weren't on speaking terms.

Whatever it was, Mrs Hay was lapping it up. When Harris started to tell her how lucky she was to have a son like Ste, Amy had to hide a grin. She stood up and seized on the first excuse she could think of to leave the room before she broke out laughing. "Would you like a drink?"

"Oh thanks, love, I'll have a beer," Mrs Hay said.

Harris's smile froze. It was like someone had thrown a switch, and the confident, goofy, harmless man who had been nattering away nineteen to the dozen was suddenly gone. "It's barely lunchtime," he said tentatively, "isn't it a bit early?"

Mrs Hay didn't seem to notice the change. "Oh, it's never too early for a beer," she said with a laugh, "not unless you're one of them teetotallers."

"Oh no," Harris said, struggling to put his smile back into place, "it's not that, it's just..."

"I'm sorry, we haven't got any beer left," Amy said quickly. "Nige drank the last of it last night. I could make you some tea, though?"

Mrs Hay looked disappointed. "I suppose so," she said. "Is Nige staying here, then?"

"Not any more," Amy said with feeling.

"He and Ste had a disagreement," Harris said brightly. "You know how it happens, the beer went to his head."

Amy fled for the kitchen.

Once she'd got over her totally inappropriate fit of the giggles, she wondered about Mr Harris. She'd got so used to him being flippant about everything from telling her "war stories" about his friends to distracting Nige last night, the way he suddenly started treating Ste's mum as if she was dangerous startled her. She hadn't asked about his parents — she wasn't used to thinking of people his age as having parents — but all she could remember was him being dismissively jokey about them whenever he thought anyone was listening. Did Ste's mum remind him of them, she wondered. Had Harris hidden it away with jokes where Ste hid it with defiance?

The conversation had got awkward by the time she returned to the living room with a tray of mugs. "So, how've you been," she asked Mrs Hay once she had passed the drinks around.

"Oh, I'm all right. How about you, love?"

"We're fine," Amy said smoothly, so used to saying it that she didn't even think of it as a lie any more. "Ste's got a Christmas sales job, so we've got a bit of money for presents."

She was saved from having to elaborate by the sound of a key in the door. She turned to see Josh steering Leah's pushchair through the door, Ste so close behind him as to be practically treading on him.

"Heya," Ste said with a sickly smile. "Look who we ran into."

"Mum."

If Kathy Barnes was at all put off by the coldness of Amy's greeting, she didn't show it. Ste, on the other hand, cringed.

"Hello, Amy," her mother said. "It's nice to see you. Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?"

Amy didn't bother to respond. She didn't have to, as Mr Harris bounded over to practice his charm on someone new. Instead she stalked over to pick up Leah; there was no way she was going to risk her daughter anywhere near her mother, not after the last time her mum had run off with her. "What did you let her in for?" she hissed at Ste.

Ste shrank back into Josh. "It's not my fault," he whined. "She met us in the street, and what with Josh coming in I couldn't very well shut the door on her, could I?"

Josh murmured something almost inaudible to Ste. "I didn't mean it like that," Ste told him, then deflated as Josh grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. "Sorry," he said.

"Yes, well," Amy said. She felt awkward just watching them after the talk she and Harris had earlier, which perversely made her more annoyed.

As they finally made it into the living room, Ste caught sight of his mother. "What's she doing here?" he demanded, his anger showing in his sudden stiffness.

"She rang the bell," Amy said sweetly. "I couldn't very well shut the door on her, could I?" She knew she wasn't being reasonable and Ste was the last person to deserve the sharp edge of her tongue right now, but just being under the same roof as her mother was making her nervous.

Ste flinched away from her, but he didn't take his eyes off his mother. "What's the matter," he asked jeeringly, "is the off-licence closed?"

Amy glared, but he wasn't looking. His mother tried much the same, but even Amy had to admit that she just looked rather pathetic. "I just came to see my granddaughter," Mrs Hay said with as much dignity as she could muster.

"Well now you've seen her," Ste said, nodding towards the sleeping bundle in Amy's arms, "so you can go."

"Steven!" Amy hissed sharply. He flinched away again, giving her a wild, scared, pleading look, but Amy was in no mood for playing his games. "You could at least be polite to her," she continued, keeping her voice low in an effort to avoid Mrs Hay hearing.

Ste had no such scruples. "You don't know what she's like," he whined, and there was no way his mother didn't hear. "And anyway Leah—"

"—is going to wake up if we argue any more," Amy interrupted before Ste could say anything about Leah not being related to his mum. As far as her parents knew Ste was Leah's father, and that was the end of the matter. Amy didn't want her mum finding out otherwise and using that against them. She leant in closer to Ste, who didn't have any room left to back away. "If I have to put up with my mother," she murmured, "you can put up with yours."

"...a lot colder than I'm used to," Mr Harris said cheerfully and a bit too loudly as he led Amy's mum into the living room. "We don't get snow in southern California; well, except for this one time, but that was a special case and kinda annoying in some ways, and you probably didn't want to know that. Have you met Pauline, Ste's mother?"

Amy left to put Leah down to sleep, trusting Mr Harris to stop World War III breaking out in the mean time. When she got back, Josh was furthering the cause of world peace by handing out mugs of tea to those that didn't already have them. She could have hugged him, but she could just imagine the rumours her mother would start from that.

Instead, since their mothers had appropriated the armchairs, she sat on the sofa next to Ste. Ste stopped glaring at his mother for long enough to give her a not quite convincing smile, thoroughly spoiled by the genuine one he gave to Josh as he sat on Ste's other side. Amy saw her mother's eyebrows go up at that and started thinking up excuses.

"How are you, Josh?" her mother asked as an opening gambit.

Josh looked momentarily panicked, then grabbed at his throat and opened his mouth wide. He looked like he was trying to strangle himself.

"He's got a sore throat," Ste translated. Josh glared at him and whispered something in his ear. Ste rolled his eyes. "Sorry, he's dying of laryngitis." Josh rolled his eyes back and sipped his tea.

"Before you ask," Amy said, "it's my fault that he's here. I got tired of him and Ste arguing so much, so I beat their heads together until they stopped being such..."

"Men?" her mother offered wryly.

"Exactly." Amy beamed before remembering that this was her mother, the woman who had all but kidnapped Leah, and she wasn't going to get back into Amy's good books that easily.

"Did it work?"

"He's not so annoying when he can't talk," Ste said magnanimously.

Josh carefully put his tea down and poked Ste. Ste rather more rapidly put his tea down and poked Josh back.

"Boys!" Amy said as they threatened to start an all-out tickle fight. She felt oddly jealous.

"Congratulations," Harris said with a laugh, as Ste and Josh both gave her innocent looks. "Now you've got three kids to look after."

"It's nice to see you making good friends," Mrs Hay told Ste, killing the mood instantly. The room lapsed back into a silence which rapidly became uncomfortable as Amy and Ste glared at their respective mothers.

Amy's mum was the first to crack. "Are you doing anything special for Christmas?" she asked Harris.

"I'm not sure," he said wistfully, settling back on the dining chair he must have carried in from the kitchen. "I'm hoping to meet up with my oldest friends in London, but reality and our plans don't have the best of histories. There's always some last-minute emergency, not counting the fact that I haven't bought them presents yet."

"I'm sure they'd be happy just to see you." Amy noticed the calculating look in her mother's eye too late to stop her continuing, "I know Mike and I are looking forward to having Christmas dinner with Amy."

"We can't come," Amy blurted out, conveniently ignoring the fact that Ste hadn't been included in her mother's implied invitation. She tried to think of a good reason why, but her mind went blank.

Meanwhile, Josh had been whispering urgently to Ste. "We already agreed to go to the Ashworths," Ste announced. "What with Amy finally making us get on with each other, it wouldn't have been polite for us to refuse."

It was a brilliant idea, Amy thought, but her mother was having none of it. "You seriously expect me to believe that?" she asked scornfully.

"Yes, Mum," Amy said sharply as Josh did his best to look indignant, "we seriously expect you to believe that. What's so unbelievable about us wanting to have fun at Christmas?" Because they all knew it wouldn't be any fun spending Christmas Day with her family.

"After what they've done to us?" her mother said, more than a little hypocritically. "After what he did to your father, do you really think he's got your best interests at heart?"

"Are you calling Josh a liar?" Ste said angrily.

"We're going, Mum," Amy said coldly, "and that's that."

There were a few seconds of silence as mother and daughter glared at one another, then Mr Harris spoke up, reminding them both that they had an audience.

"That sounds like my cue to be going," he said lightly, trying to break the tension.

"I think it's time you were all going," Amy said, taking the opportunity to get rid of her mother as well. She stood, chivvying the rest of her less-willing guests along despite her mother's best efforts to stay put.

Behind her she heard Ste ask Josh "'What you did to her dad?'" and winced. Josh had put her father in hospital, convinced that her dad was going to beat him up for daring to go out with Amy. She wasn't sure that Josh had been wrong, but that didn't stop him torturing himself about it all the time. What Ste would do with ammunition like that didn't bear thinking about.

"It's been nice seeing you all," she lied as she stood at the door. "Have a Happy Christmas if I don't see you before." And if I do see you before, she thought, looking at her mother, I'll be sure you don't see me.

She closed the door and leaned up against it, feeling more drained than she had for days. Being a Slayer was all well and good for running around and doing the million and one things she did looking after her family, but it was no help whatsoever against overbearing mothers. Either of them, though she really needed to talk to Ste about just why he hated his mother so much.

With that thought, she headed back into the living room in time to hear Josh finish an impassioned, incomprehensible declaration. Probably about what an awful person he was, she thought with another wince, and started over to comfort him.

Ste beat her to it. "I'm glad you could do that," he said sincerely, startling Josh and Amy both. "It was the same as defending us against Nige, and if you hadn't done that I'd be dead."

With that, Amy watched in sad amazement as her boyfriend, who had jumped a mile every time she'd so much as looked at him today, hugged her ex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [0] "Timefax", "fear-maker", is pronounced "Tim-ay-fax" in case you're interested. I should know, I made it up.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Craig and John Paul have it out, and Jake has a really bad time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** extremely dubious consent this chapter.

Craig watched as Xander sank another ball, looking very pleased with himself. He seemed to be getting his eye back in — a thought which Craig was glad he hadn't said out loud. It was weird enough that Xander made jokes himself about having only one eye, Craig wasn't about to join in. For that matter, just hanging around with someone nearer to Jake's age and calling him by his first name was a bit uncomfortable as far as Craig was concerned.

Sadly, "uncomfortable" was an improvement for Craig over the last couple of days. The atmosphere with his family was poisonous; Jake alternated between brooding and exploding at the slightest thing Craig did, their mum was taking Jake's side, and Jack was so preoccupied with keeping the _Dog_ making money over Christmas that he automatically followed Frankie's lead. The only member of his family Craig was getting on with at the moment was Steph, and she was obsessing over Max. By the time Xander had shown up that evening, Craig wasn't about to refuse any vaguely friendly face. Heck, he'd even have been prepared to be polite to Justin again.

Xander lined up another shot. "Tell me to butt out if you like," he said, "but what's the deal with you and Justin?"

"He's a bastard," Craig said automatically, then sighed. Xander could get the whole story from almost anyone in the village, so he might as well answer. "Justin fell in love with our English teacher. She was my brother's wife. It got... messy, and now she's dead, and it's mostly his fault."

Xander missed his shot. "Okay," he said slowly, "not exactly what I was expecting."

"There's more history than that," Craig admitted, thinking of how Jake had accidentally run down Mrs Valentine, and how Justin and Sonny had made school a nightmare for him. If it hadn't been for John Paul coming to the rescue...

"But you were still hanging out together the other night?"

"I've got low standards."

He must have let himself sound more bitter than he thought, because Xander looked at him, really looked at him like he could see right through him. "No," Xander said, "I don't think you have."

Craig bent down to take his shot, uncomfortably aware that Xander was still looking at him. He still almost missed it when Xander said softly to himself, "Which means that things aren't what they seem again."

Craig sank his shot but left the cue ball stranded. "What do you mean, 'again'?" he asked absently, trying to figure a way out of the mess he'd just created on the pool table.

"Things are rarely what they seem," Xander told him. He was trying to sound wise, but it came out flip. Craig gave him a look. Xander shrugged. "It's just that you aren't the only people I've met who don't like each other but end up hanging together, that's all."

He wasn't entirely convincing, but Craig let it slide. He could hardly talk, after all; his life was one long string of not being what he looked like, right up to cheating on Sarah with John Paul.

"Not bad," Xander said as Craig's safety shot ended up less than an inch from the baulk cushion. As Xander studied the table, Craig noticed Justin come into the _Dog_. The way Justin brightened when he saw the pair of them immediately started ringing alarm bells in Craig's head, particularly after what Xander had said. He scowled back when Justin nodded his way, which at least stopped Justin smiling quite so much.

Justin seemed to have trouble getting served, Craig noticed with a thin sliver of satisfaction. Frankie pointedly ignored him in favour of talking to some of the other regulars. Kris, who seemed to be the hired barman that night, looked by contrast to be having a quiet but heated argument with Jess, who if Craig had got this straight was now his step-brother Darren's girlfriend. Whatever she was, she didn't seem to be in any mood to listen to what Kris had to say, and she turned on her designer heels and started to leave.

"Jess!" Kris shouted after her. "Jessica Harris, don't you dare walk away from me!"

There was a clatter as the cue ball shot into the air and Xander dived to the ground behind the table. Craig, along with half the pub, looked at him with bemusement and a bit of concern. "Are you OK?" he asked.

"Uh, yeah," Xander said sheepishly, climbing back to his feet. "Sorry about that. My mom's name is Jessica," he explained, "and she's kind of alcoholic, so her being in a place like this would not be of the good."

Craig couldn't help laughing. Xander attempted to look offended, but it wasn't very convincing and just made Craig laugh harder. By the time he recovered, Justin had arrived and wanted to know what was going on, so Craig had to explain and then smirk at Xander some more as Justin cracked up.

"Not my finest hour," Xander had to admit eventually. "Still, it proves that I have a finely honed sense of when to run and hide."

"And yet still attract everyone's attention," Justin pointed out.

Craig missed Xander's come-back since he abruptly wanted to run and hide himself. The door to the pub had opened, and he had looked over to see John Paul walk in.

He stood frozen as John Paul looked cautiously round the place. As their eyes locked, Craig had only two thoughts in his mind: that he loved John Paul more than ever, and that he never again wanted to be hurt as badly as when John Paul walked away from him.

Somehow he was in front of John Paul, or John Paul had come over to him, or something. He wasn't entirely clear about how, he'd been too busy memorising everything he could about his ex-boyfriend to pay attention to little details like that. Now that they were facing each other, he was too scared to speak.

"How've you been?" John Paul asked eventually.

"OK," Craig lied. He wanted to reach out, but he didn't dare. "Yourself?"

John Paul nodded. He hesitated for a moment, then said "I missed you."

Something flared inside Craig, and fear turned to anger in an instant. "No," he said unsteadily. "No, you don't get to say that. You're the one who walked away from me. Do you have any idea what it felt like—?"

"You don't know what it felt like to have to do it," John Paul shot back. "You don't know what it felt like to be your dirty little secret all that time, and to know that if I went with you I'd just be your secret all over again."

"No," Craig protested. He knew he was on dodgy ground, but damn it, John Paul didn't get to do this. "I wouldn't do that to you again. I've changed."

"I can tell," John Paul said. He scowled as he glanced over at where Justin was standing with Xander, the two of them conspicuously not paying attention to the awkward reunion.

"What do you mean by that?" Craig asked tightly.

"You go drinking with him and you don't even text me to say you're back. What do you think I mean?"

"You think I'm dating Justin?" Craig demanded.

"I think you don't want to be seen with me," John Paul snapped, "whatever else you're up to."

"Wait," Justin said, joining them before Craig could ask why he'd want to be seen with someone who'd dumped him, "you think he's what?" He sounded more than a bit startled.

"Keep out of this," Craig told him.

"You do that," John Paul sneered. "A long way out of this. Leaving town would be a good start."

"Leave him alone," Craig said hotly. "He's the only one who's treated me like a human being since I got back."

"Oh really?" John Paul said. "Maybe I was wrong about which brother he's trying to seduce."

Craig gaped in shock that John Paul would say such a thing.

"I'm not trying to seduce anyone," Justin said angrily.

"Stop!" Xander barked. There was enough force in the command to make Craig bite back the insult he was about to hurl at John Paul, and both John Paul and Justin closed their mouths too. Even Craig's mum stopped in her tracks as she came from the bar to make a bad situation worse.

"Excuse me if I'm a bit confused, but you two are acting like total fruitloops." There was an edge to Xander's voice that made Craig feel like he was back in primary school and had just been caught gluing someone else to their chair. "Let me check if I've got this right. Do you love him?" Xander asked Craig, pointing to John Paul.

"He's the one who—" Craig began, but Xander cut him off.

"I don't care who's fault what was," he said, staring at Craig in the same unsettling way that he had earlier. "Just tell me honestly, do you love him."

"Of course I do. He's the one who left me!"

"Uh-huh," Xander said, apparently unmoved. "And Justin?"

"What?"

"Are you in love with him?"

"God, no. Maybe I don't despise him like I used to, but that's it." Craig felt a bit put out to see Justin look relieved when he said that, but he didn't say anything more. Much as he wanted to, he really didn't want to cross Xander in this mood; the usually goofy American was actually pretty scary now he was being serious.

"You're John Paul, right?" Xander asked, turning from Craig. John Paul nodded and opened his mouth to say something, but Xander raised a cautioning hand. "Do you love him?"

"You don't understand what..." John Paul trailed off as Xander stared at him. Craig couldn't help shivering.

"Was that a 'yes' or a 'no'?" Xander asked calmly.

John Paul hesitated. "Yes," he said shakily. "He's said it before, though, and he was still too ashamed for us to be a couple in public."

Craig winced at the hurt in that voice, the more so because he'd put it there. Xander just nodded thoughtfully. "Justin, just for the record, do you fancy either of these guys?"

Justin's only answer was a gagging motion.

"I'll take that as a 'no', Mr Manly Man," Xander said with amusement. Then he grew serious again, and moved closer to Craig. "Are you ashamed of him?" he whispered.

"No," Craig protested quietly, not taking his eyes off John Paul. John Paul was... well, he was John Paul, and Craig couldn't ever be ashamed of him.

"Are you ashamed of yourself?"

The matter-of-fact way that Xander asked took Craig aback. There was no judgement in that question, neither for whether Craig should be ashamed, nor of him for being ashamed. Because he had been, Craig knew that. He'd been ashamed of being gay, ashamed of what his family would think of him, ashamed of how he'd piled lie upon lie to conceal what he was until it all spiralled out of control.

"I was," he said, but lifted his head. "I was ashamed, but I'm not any more." It had taken all his courage, but he had admitted to his new friends in Dublin that he was gay. They hadn't run screaming.

He stepped closer to John Paul. "I'll yell it out from the village square if that's what it takes to make you believe me. I'm not ashamed of who and what I am, and I'm not ashamed of wanting you." Please, he thought, please believe me.

It was only the slightest glimmer of hope he saw in John Paul's eyes, but it was enough to break the remains of Craig's self-control. He couldn't stop himself grabbing John Paul and pulling him in for a kiss. For a startled moment John Paul resisted, and Craig almost let go for fear of rejection, but then John Paul was kissing him back, John Paul's arms were around him, and Craig felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders.

After months of exile, he was finally _home_.

A discrete cough eventually registered in Craig's brain, and he broke the kiss. Just for a moment the enormity of what he'd done threatened to overwhelm him; he'd kissed a boy full-on in the middle of his family's pub. But John Paul was there, solid and reassuring, holding Craig's hand like he'd never let go, and that was enough for Craig. John Paul always had been enough for him, he'd just been too scared to realise it.

Looking round, he was reassured to see life in the _Dog_ carrying on pretty much as normal. Xander was looking thoughtful but he still smiled at them, and beside him Justin was actually grinning like an idiot. Craig would tease him mercilessly for being a voyeur later; for now, he was just happy that his tentative friendships were still intact.

That, of course, was when his mother finally found her voice.

"Craig! Upstairs, now."

Craig squeezed John Paul's hand reflexively. The thought of going up against his mother when she was this angry, maybe even losing her over this, was pushing him to the edge of panic. He braced himself to do it all the same: he wasn't going to lose John Paul again, not even for his family.

"Much as I hate to break up a very necessary PDA," Xander said, the humour in his voice lancing the tension neatly, "she's right. You guys need to get out of here before you spontaneously combust from sheer hotness."

Frankie turned on Xander. "What makes you think you have any say in what my son does?" she snapped.

"Long years of practice," Xander said, smoothly moving between Craig and his mother. "Seriously..."

"Go on," Justin said very quietly as Xander monopolised Frankie's attention, "get out of here. We'll keep her busy."

They were protecting him, Craig realised. "Are you sure?" he asked. Much as he wanted to be alone with John Paul, this wasn't really fair on Justin.

Justin gave him a bitter little smile. "If I can't distract your mum, I'm not really trying." It wasn't what Craig had meant, but it answered his question anyway. Besides, Justin was gone before Craig could say any more to him, even a hurried thank you.

Craig shared a look of amazement with John Paul, then pulled him round the side of the bar and up into the flat above the pub. They stopped to kiss several times on the stairs, and were practically welded together at the lips as they stumbled through the doorway. Even the tiny living room seemed to have caught the mood, the table lamp casting a low romantic light across the flat. Craig felt like he'd explode if he had to wait any longer to get John Paul to his bedroom. He glanced up to judge their path through the room... and froze.

Jake was sitting on the couch, baby Charlie resting on his lap, his face unreadable in the gloom. He didn't move, or say anything, but a stab of fear went through Craig just at the sight of him.

Craig twisted to push John Paul behind him, shielded from his brother's anger. "Jake. I... We..." He faltered under the intensity of Jake's hooded gaze, but he refused to back up. He'd gone through too much— no, _they'd_ gone through too much to let Jake's prejudices stop them now. He'd known that Jake would find out some time, and that he wouldn't take it well, but here and now when John Paul was in the firing line wasn't how he'd wanted it. If Jake really lost it...

Craig squared his shoulders and lifted his head. "We're together," he said defiantly, daring Jake to make something of it. John Paul stayed quiet behind him, but his hand found Craig's and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

For all his determination, Craig nearly broke and ran when Jake stood slowly, Charlie wrapped protectively in his arms. What scared him most was how impassive his brother was as he stalked towards them. Jake wasn't one to bottle up his emotions for long, and Craig was well used to seeing Jake angry or upset and not caring who knew about it. Seeing him this emotionless as he looked the two of them over like they were strangers, it shook Craig worse than the argument he'd been expecting.

Then Jake moved, and Craig shifted to deflect the punch he was sure was coming, and suddenly found Charlie thrust into his arms. He was too surprised to do anything but scramble to keep his nephew from falling on the floor. By the time he pulled himself together, Jake was out of the door and heading down the stairs. In Craig's arms, Charlie started to squall angrily.

"Jake!" Craig called, but his brother ignored him. He looked helplessly between the door, Charlie and John Paul.

"What the hell just happened?" John Paul asked, bewildered.

"I don't know." Craig hadn't been expecting anything like this, anything so unlike his brother, and he felt suddenly adrift. "I should go after him," he said uncertainly.

"Wherever you go, I'm going with you," John Paul told him.

Craig gave him a wobbly smile as John Paul pushed him gently towards the stairs door. John Paul was with him. Whatever happened with his family, whatever was making Jake act like a stranger, he still had that. This time.

************

"I've just got a different perspective, that's all," Xander said. He was lying through his teeth, but Justin bought the line anyway and settled back to studying the pool table.

What Xander had was years of experience in calming down annoyed and over-wrought slayers, witches and ex-vengeance demons. He'd had to pull out every weapon in his arsenal short of plying her with chocolate and ice cream to keep Craig's mother — he really had to remember to ask someone what her name was, he'd met so many new people in the last few days he was struggling to remember who they all were — keeping her from charging upstairs after Craig. He'd never expected to meet someone as stubborn and ready to misinterpret him as Anya, but this woman was right up there.

"You want to watch out for Frankie," Justin said casually. "She can hold a grudge for England."

"She and my ex-fiancée would have got on like a house on fire," Xander admitted, quietly memorising the name. "Either that or they'd have become mortal enemies."

" _Ex_ -fiancée?" Justin asked, looking intrigued.

"She died a few years ago," Xander said flatly, skipping over a whole lot of history that was still painful to remember even now.

"Oh." Justin looked embarrassed and a little bit scared to have asked. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, you couldn't have known." It was another piece that fitted into the picture Xander was beginning to build up, though. People around this place tended to overreact. If there was a way to misconstrue what someone said, they'd find it. Take Craig and his boyfriend, for example; they'd told each other that they loved each other, and still wouldn't listen when the other said it until he'd banged their heads together. While emotions constantly running high was a classic sign of an active hellmouth, Xander wasn't sure he wanted to discuss that particular example with anyone else; even Willow would just squeal and never let him hear the end of it for playing the gay Cupid.

The trouble with whatever this not-a-hellmouth was, Xander thought wryly, was that he couldn't tell whether that last thought had been his normal internal babble or something he ought to be more worried about.

"I take it there's more than a bit of history behind what just happened," he said.

Justin snorted, moving round the table for his next shot. "You could put it that way. John Paul used to be a popular guy at school, but when he came out he got pretty much kicked out of everything."

"Ouch," Xander said with feeling. "Not that I know what it must have felt like, since I've been popular pretty much never. It's not always like that, though. The captain of my high school football team managed to come out and avoid the whole social death thing."

Justin paused, giving Xander an odd look. "John Paul was the captain of the football team," he pointed out.

Xander winced. He was about to ask about what Craig had done, to see if that gave him anything more to back up his theory, when there was a clattering from the private door that Craig had disappeared through. "Uh oh," he said.

Craig's brother — Jake, Xander's poor over-heated memory supplied — stormed out of the door looking angry. No, wait, Xander thought, looking harder and frowning. That wasn't anger there, that was closer to fear. Jake was keeping his face too blank, too controlled for it to be easily seen, but his eyes gave it away to Xander.

Seconds later Craig burst through the door, carrying a screaming baby to Xander's bogglement, and with John Paul close behind him. "Jake!" Craig called. Jake ignored him, striding out of the pub.

"What the hell?" Justin asked. Xander had to agree, though he was kind of hoping that hell had nothing to do with it.

Craig headed for the door too, but his mother stopped him. "You're not taking Charlie outside at this time of night, not in this weather. Do you want him to catch his death of cold?"

"But Jake..." Craig protested.

"Jake's a big boy," Frankie said, "he can look after himself."

Craig looked at the door, clearly unconvinced. After what he'd seen, Xander wasn't any too convinced either.

"I'll go keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn't do anything stupid," Justin said unexpectedly. Frankie started to protest, but by the time she'd made sure Craig wasn't going anywhere Justin had grabbed his coat and gone.

Xander sighed and looked at the door, remembering what Craig had told him about Justin having an affair with Jake's wife. "They get on like a house on fire, don't they?" he asked Craig. "Complete with the screaming and the calling of the emergency services?" Craig nodded. Xander grimaced. "I'd better go and keep an eye on Justin then, make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

It didn't take Xander long to catch up with Justin. Justin seemed to be trying to catch up with Jake, which Xander definitely classed as 'doing something stupid.' Anything might happen with someone as wound up as he thought Jake was, and Xander didn't think that Justin accidentally starting a fight would help anything. "Not yet," he said quietly, catching Justin's arm. "Let's hang back and let him walk some of it off first."

It was a long walk, made easier by the fact that Jake seemed to be oblivious to anything other than the sidewalk in front of him. Unfortunately Jake's body-language didn't get any safer to Xander's practiced eye at any time. Several times Xander had to stop Justin from running up to Jake anyway. "We've got to do something," Justin protested eventually, quietly enough that Jake wouldn't hear.

"We are doing something," Xander replied. "We're making sure he doesn't get mugged." Or worse. "Look at him, he's still not in a mood to listen. We'll probably only make things worse if we stop him now."

Justin didn't seem all that convinced, but he subsided. Xander spared a moment to wonder why Justin was doing this at all. He and Jake couldn't be remotely friendly under the circumstances. Was he feeling guilty for whatever he'd done that had got Jake's wife killed? Maybe, though Justin seemed more like the type to avoid Jake for that. Was he just doing a favour for Craig? It was an awfully big favour for someone who wasn't really a friend. Did he still have it in for Jake, since they must have fought over Jake's wife? Now that was just paranoia, and Xander squashed the thought hard. Oh no, Mister I'm-Not-A-Hellmouth, he thought, you're not pulling me in that easily.

Then Jake walked into a building, and Xander pulled his attention back to the here and now. "What is that place?" he asked.

Justin shrugged. "A night club. I dunno what it's like, I've not been here before."

The bouncer on the door was looking at Justin dubiously, probably thinking about carding him. Xander didn't want to put up with the delay — it would be hard enough finding Jake again if the club was at all crowded — so he smiled brightly at the man and mouthed the words "Birthday boy" as he herded Justin ahead of him. Just as he'd hoped, the guy grinned and let them go on in.

Once inside, he had to smile. "It figures," he said.

"Wow," was all Justin could say as he stared wide-eyed at the barely-clad dancers.

"Never been to a pole dancing club before?" Not that Xander was ever going to mention what he'd done at the Fabulous Ladies Night Club, but it all helped add to his mystique. Assuming anyone thought he was cool enough to have mystique in the first place.

Scanning the crowd, it took Xander a while to find Jake again. "There he is," he said, nudging Justin who was beginning to drool. "Over in the corner, by that door."

Jake was disappearing through the discreet doorway, actually. Xander took one look at the large, well-dressed man lounging casually near the door and grabbed Justin before he could head over. "There's a bouncer on the door," he explained. "I bet there's some private fun going on backstage, so they won't let just anyone back there."

"But they will let Jake in?" Justin asked skeptically.

"They just did. Which means they know him."

"What? You mean Jake's been coming here for a while and..." Justin gestured vaguely. "But he's only just dumped Nancy!"

"Yeah," Xander said, more to himself than to Justin, "I didn't think it was going to add up. We need to get backstage."

"But you just said they won't let us in."

"Well, you know what they say." Xander grinned. "If they won't let you in the front door..."

"...Go in the back," Justin finished, grinning back at him.

The back doors turned out to be firmly locked, but fortunately no one had taken much trouble with the windows. A bit of work with his pocket-knife and some rusty soldier memories, and Xander had one of them open. It was just as well; Buffy would have gone for the skylights next, but Xander really didn't fancy his chances clambering around in the cold.

He climbed in through the window, caught his foot on the sill and sprawled face-down in what seemed to be a pile of dirty linen.

"Are you hurt?" Justin slithered in with enough grace to make Xander jealous, which didn't take much right then.

"Just my pride," he said, untangling himself. "Now, let's see what's going on."

Not a lot, seemed to be the answer. They kept clear of the immediate backstage area, where dancers bustled to and fro from what seemed like communal dressing rooms. They found several rooms that were better suited to actual prostitution, assuming that was what was going on, but no sign of Jake.

There was at least one more floor above them, but Xander stopped Justin when he started up a staircase. Something was nagging at him, something down here, and he didn't want to move on until he'd figured it out. It wasn't until Justin, clearly bored watching him pace up and down a corridor, actually leaned against it that Xander finally noticed the nondescript wooden door they hadn't tried yet.

"That can't be good," he whispered as he approached the door.

Justin looked confused. "We've been in there," he said quietly, though he didn't sound entirely sure of himself.

"Nope," Xander told him. He opened the door cautiously, revealing a small landing with comfortable, well-lit stairs leading down. "That really can't be good." He gave Justin a serious look. "Be very careful, we don't know what we're getting into." If he could have thought of a way of getting Justin out of there he'd have tried it, but so far the kid was treating the whole breaking and entering business as a game. He didn't have Xander's hard-won experience to tell him that a door with some sort of notice-me-not spell on it couldn't be good news.

They didn't get very far down the stairs before another landing let them into a room not much bigger than a broom closet. A guard post, Xander reckoned, since it was packed out with TV screens mostly showing pictures of empty rooms, some of which he recognised from upstairs.

"There he is," Justin said, pointing to one of the screens. "Lucky dog."

Xander forced a smile he didn't feel. Jake was on camera, standing with a short, oriental woman who was severely dressed in tight leathers. The room was sparely furnished and stone-lined, giving the suggestion of being a dungeon without making it explicit, but then the statue of a gargoyle next to the door was totally overdone. It looked on the surface like a minimalist dominatrix's playroom, but the alarm bells in Xander's head were ringing fit to bust.

The room was too bare. Nothing in Jake's body language suggested that he was looking forward to this at all, not in any way. And the way the woman moved was subtly wrong, not so much as to give her away to anyone who hadn't made a hobby of being kidnapped by over-optimistic demons in high school but really obvious to Xander.

And then the second man walked into view.

"What the hell?" Justin said, suddenly confused about what was happening.

"Definitely not good," Xander said. He pulled out his cellphone, then hesitated for a second. He didn't really want to drag his Slayer into this situation, but he was certain there was something demonic going on here. He knew better than to wade in himself without backup, and Justin didn't count. Like it or not, he had to call in the cavalry.

He stepped away from the monitors and dialled, grateful that he'd insisted on having Willow work her mojo on his phone ages ago. It could get a signal in the middle of the Serengeti, so a mere few feet underground in Chester wasn't going to stop it.

"Hi, Mike? It's Xander Harris here, I need to ask you for a favour. Have you got a car? Good. Could you pick up Amy and bring her to this address?" He rattled off the name of the street behind the club as best he could remember it. "She's at her place; tell her to bring the bag of goodies I left with her, I'm afraid we're going to need it. No, I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. We'll be..." He looked around for Justin.

Who wasn't there. "Crap. Mike, get here as fast as you can."

********

"You wish to be cured?"

There was barely any question in Astarte's voice, but Jake nodded anyway.

He'd been nerving himself up to come here when Craig and John Paul had burst into the flat. At first he'd been irritated, seeing Craig like that while he was clinging to the bits of family that mattered to him, as if Craig wanted to rub his nose in it. Then Craig had closed his eyes and thrown his head back as John Paul kissed his neck, and he'd looked exactly like the kid in the club had, and Jake... reacted.

After that, it was never in question. Jake would not do that to his brother, not even given what Craig was. After everything that had happened to him, he'd sworn he would never do that to anyone.

"Please," he said through dry lips, "please, you have to help me."

Astarte nodded, almost dismissively. "Remove your clothes."

"What?" Jake wasn't sure what most unsettled him, her order or the indifference with which she gave it.

She shrugged and turned. "Then you may leave," she said over her shoulder, walking away.

"No, please, you can't make me go!" Panic had him talking before he knew what he was doing, and if that didn't prove how out of control he was... Jake shuddered.

Astarte stopped and turned back to him. "You wish my help, but you question my advice? How can you control yourself if you hide the signs?"

"I'm sorry," Jake said, looking down. He wasn't, not really, but right now he'd say anything if it got her to help him. Her odd accent and foreign phrasing anyway were confusing him, that had to be it.

"Very well." She sounded as matter of fact as before as she stalked confidently back over to him. "Understand this; I will tolerate no more disobedience. You will do as I say, or you will leave as broken as you came. Now, remove your clothes. All your clothes," she added as Jake drew breath.

OK, Jake thought, so he hadn't misunderstood her. She wanted him naked. Another time, he'd have grinned and cheerfully gone along with her. Right now, the idea scared him silly. It felt like exactly the wrong thing to do, making himself vulnerable when he should be locking himself away, but he didn't have a choice. Not if he wanted her help to stop him becoming... that.

"Good," she said, once he had slowly and reluctantly undressed. "Now kneel."

He knelt down carefully. It wasn't as bad as he'd feared; the rug under his feet looked thin, but it provided enough padding against the stone floor that kneeling on it wasn't that uncomfortable.

He heard the door behind him open, the one he hadn't come in through, and turned his head to see who was there. At least he started to; Astarte's hand reached out to grasp his chin before he caught more than a glimpse of motion out of the corner of his eye, and dragged his attention back to her.

"First," she said firmly, staring straight into his eyes, "you must know what you are. What you want."

"I'm not like that," Jake said weakly, taking her implication. He could hear someone behind him, and it was making him nervous. "You ask anybody, I'm not like that."

She ignored him. "Hands and knees," she ordered, tugging his chin forwards so that he couldn't mistake her meaning. She wasn't going to take no for an answer, she wanted him naked on his hands and knees, and there was somebody behind him.

Jake wasn't stupid, but he was scared out of his mind. He didn't dare disobey her and lose maybe his only chance, but he couldn't face what she was threatening either. "Please," he said, and he balled his fists ready to lash out, but he couldn't stop himself falling on all fours in front of her. "Please, no, I don't want..."

"Your body calls you liar," Astarte said softly, and oh God, it was true, he was getting hard just at the threat. Jake tried to pretend that it was because of her, all that leather and power, but he couldn't convince himself.

"Please," he tried again, hating the way his voice cracked. "Please don't..."

Then firm but gentle hands grasped his hips, and Jake stopped thinking entirely. He was ten years old again, and it didn't matter how much he cried, if he didn't go through with this then it was all going to happen to his little brother.

Astarte was talking to him again, but he was too far gone to make out her words. The hands were all that he could pay attention to, hands that slid smoothly over his skin, softly pushing his legs apart so that someone — someone very male — could kneel behind him. Jake tried to make himself resist, make himself do anything at all except kneel there and take it, but he couldn't. Memory held him fast.

It was the gentleness of it that got to him most. If the hands had been rough, forcing, maybe he could have summoned up some of the anger at what had been done to his younger self. They weren't though. Even when the finger slipped inside him, making him cry out in surprise and he didn't know what else, it was done as a caress, as if this was some huge horrific honour that was being bestowed upon him.

Throughout the torture Astarte murmured to him, telling him that he must stop lying to himself, that this was what he wanted. She was sweetly echoing the older, harsher voice of his memory, and for all he wanted to Jake couldn't fight either of them any more. He tried to deny it, incoherent though he was, tried to tell himself that this was all wrong, but his body would have none of it. Every touch of those hands drew a whimper from him, demanding more and more no matter what he wanted to believe.

When at last the fingers withdrew and something larger invaded him, and those torturing hands fondled his balls and stroked his straining cock, Jake couldn't do anything but surrender. This was everything he should hate, everything he said he hated, but everything his body was determined to have. As he knelt there and let himself be fucked, Jake's only sliver of consolation was that no one he cared for would know about his shame.

_"Get the hell away from him."_


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get worse for Jake and Justin before they get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter's warning still applies. If not more so.

_"Get the hell away from him."_

Astarte looked up in irritation. She had left strict instructions that no one was to be allowed into the private areas until she was finished. She would relish the punishment she meted out on whoever had let this angry young man through. As to why he was here and wasting his energy blustering at Conrad as he raped her newest toy, that could wait. Conrad, of course, didn't falter or give any other sign of noticing the newcomer. She had required him not to allow himself to be distracted.

Irritation or no, this was one of the reasons why she had acquired less subtle forms of persuasion. She gestured, and the gargoyle behind the boy — he could not be more than a few years older than Conrad, if that — grabbed hold of him. She smiled cruelly, watching his anger change to fear as stone fists grabbed his wrists and effortlessly raised his arms high above his head.

"Bring him here," she said, pointing to a spot over to the side. "He will have a better view."

She ignored the predictable and pointless outburst from the boy, carefully making sure that the gargoyle did what she intended. While it was bound to obey her every word, she had no other hooks into it. It was an it, which ended her professional interest right there and left her with no easy way to break its will. As a consequence it took her literally whenever it thought it could be inconvenient. Allowing it to get away with such was more damaging than the toothless threats of an uninvited guest.

"Jake, do something! You don't have to just lie there and take it!"

That, however, could not be ignored. "Silence him," she snapped as the gargoyle lumbered into place. It took both of the boy's wrists in one huge stone paw, plastering the other across his face to muffle him. "Allow him to breathe and see," she amended, "so that he may enjoy the show."

As she said it, she reached out with her power and awakened his interest. She saw his eyes widen in confusion as his cock stirred, doubtless wrongly associating it with the sight of Conrad thrusting into his friend. She allowed herself a small smile, a part of her calculating what to do with him. Men were so easily led; pride would never allow them to suspect that their penis was lying to them.

Then she turned her attention back to breaking Jake properly.

The problem was that Jake had broken too quickly. She had been ready for anger and attempted violence, but he had collapsed almost immediately into weeping incoherence. That was irksome only in so much as she needed him able to speak, but that need was absolute, and it went against her nature to pull someone back over the edge they had so obligingly thrown themselves off.

Keeping her distaste firmly off her face and out of her voice, Astarte knelt at Jake's head and crooned to him in a parody of a loving mother. What a beautiful, strong boy he was, she told him, surely he had the strength to tell her the truth. Her truth, she amended silently, winding her magics through his body to hold back his orgasm. She wasted little thought on what might have happened to Jake to provoke a reaction like that. Once he was hers, he would tell her and she would incorporate it into his training. It would add a delightful flavour to her work, but that was all.

It took far longer than she wanted, but eventually she managed to coax words from him. A barely audible plea, but still, words. She changed tactics slightly, allowing soft sorrow to lace her voice. "You must admit the truth, Jake. Listen to your body. Do you want this?" She allowed as much pleasure as she dared to flood him. His answer was lost in a sobbing gasp. "Do you?" she insisted.

At first she thought she'd pushed too hard, and would need to bring him back again. She almost missed his reply, it was so quiet. "Louder," she said firmly.

"Yes."

It was still quiet, but beautifully broken. Astarte kept the signs of triumph off her face — she wasn't done, and it could still all fail at this final hurdle — and signalled to the private door behind Jake. Her other boys entered solemnly, prepared to welcome their new brother, but it was the squat, ugly demon they formed an honour guard for who mattered. Verthrix waddled over to where the gargoyle and their unwanted guest stood, to enjoy the show in his own peculiar way.

"Say the words," she continued, not allowing Jake to take refuge in simple answers. "Do you want this?"

"I..." He gulped and closed his eyes. "I want this."

"Do you want to be fucked?"

The crudeness of her words made him shudder, then the touch of her power drawing him closer to coming made him gasp. Conrad, obedient to her orders, sped up his rhythm, the struggle to hold off his own orgasm the only emotion showing on his face.

"I w— w— wanttobefucked."

He hated the mere thought, she thought smugly, but he believed the lies she made his body tell him. "It will all be over soon," she crooned soothingly. "I can make the wanting stop, but you have to do something for me, Jake. You have to do everything I tell you, exactly the way I tell you. Can you do that for me, Jake?"

"Yes... please?"

She couldn't help but smile at the flicker of hope in his eyes, but she managed to keep it from becoming a smirk. "Say it; will you do exactly what I tell you?"

"I'll do what you tell me, exactly what you tell me." He was gabbling again, she noted, barely able to think through the sex and self-hate.

"Swear it."

"I swear... please, please, make it stop."

"Say the words. Say that you swear to do exactly what I tell you."

"I swear, I swear I'll do exactly what you tell me."

"So spoken, so sealed," Verthrix intoned in his improbably deep voice. Astarte felt the Witness Demon's unique oath magics settle around her, and smiled her first genuine smile of the evening. She doubted Jake even noticed, but he was hers now.

She stood. "You may come now," she said off-handedly. There was no need for her power any longer; Jake would come because she had told him to, like Conrad. Her magic she reserved for Jake's would-be saviour, giving him entirely the wrong idea of what he thought about seeing them shudder their way to orgasm. She would build on that later, once Jake was settled in.

It was comical the way that Jake flopped there like a fish out of water, and Astarte settled back to enjoy the moment. He knelt there gasping and blinking as his racing heart slowed down, clearly not grasping the enormity of what he had just done in any way. It wasn't until she saw the self-loathing start to creep across his face that she signalled to Conrad, who pulled out of Jake and stood, apparently unconcerned at the semen and lubricant covering his softening prick.

Astarte felt a surge of pride at that. Desperate as he had been when she took him in, the boy had tried so hard to be fastidious. Breaking him of that had been a major milestone.

Freed from Conrad's hold, Jake hung there for a moment before twisting to look glassily behind him. Astarte pin-pointed the moment he recognised Conrad from the previous night, despite the fact that the boy was now only wearing the leather collar that had previously been concealed by a shirt, and was looking as if Jake was a matter of supreme indifference to him. Jake quickly became angry and suspicious, most likely sure that some sort of trick had been used against him even if his feeble imagination couldn't possibly imagine what.

Then he caught sight of Mark and Peter. Mark provoked the expected fear and alarm that comes from knowing that a naked nine-year-old has been watching you having shameful sex with great interest. Peter, on the other hand, elicited quite a different response.

"Simon," Jake spat, "what the hell have you—"

"Silence!"

Astarte allowed herself a moment of amusement as Jake discovered that he couldn't make himself talk. "Remain where you are and be silent," she said in more moderate tones. Jake would do exactly that now; his freely sworn and witnessed oath wouldn't let him do anything else. "You know this one?" she asked Peter.

"Yes, Madam," the man who had once been Simon Crosby said. He bowed his head submissively before adding, "He led the lynch mob that came to my house."

Ah, one of the accusers who had called him paedophile, wearing him down until he was easy pickings for her and at the same time giving her such a simple way to break him. Jake would realise soon enough what it meant that just like Conrad, all Peter wore was a leather collar, and that would give her another tool to use on him. Sometimes humans were such a delight.

Sometimes, on the other hand, they were a nuisance. Peter still tried to make little rebellions, less frequently as his punishments had more pointedly involved Mark. For something like this, he might well try again. "What do you not wish to tell me?" she asked him severely.

She could tell she was right from the grimace as he tried futilely not to answer. "He has a baby son," he grated out.

Perfect, she thought, even as she tutted disappointedly at Peter. "It would be rude to keep father and son apart." And it would break Jake all the faster to know that his precious son was to be raised just like Mark.

To judge from Jake's obvious anger, and the horror that slowly replaced it as he realised his helplessness to prevent her plans, Jake understood that all too well. Judging from the wriggling and well-muffled noises, his would-be rescuer understood the first but not the second. She would attend to his education later; first there were formalities to see to.

"Kneel," she commanded Jake, gesturing to Mark to come nearer. Jake knelt. "The rules are very simple: you will do as I say." Jake closed his eyes and screwed his face up in silent denial. "Look at me," she demanded, feeling a little frisson of pleasure at the hatred he managed to put into his glare. "You will not speak except to answer me. You will not harm yourself or another without my explicit permission. You will remain in these rooms, not venturing upstairs unless I order you to do so. You will not attempt to contact anyone outside this building."

She nodded to Mark, who with all the ridiculous solemnity of his young age handed her a plain leather collar, identical to the ones that Conrad and Peter were wearing. It never ceased to amuse her that he so badly wanted to grow up enough to "earn" his own collar, and he never realised how much that horrified her other boys.

"You will wear this," she said, fastening the collar round Jake's neck, "to remind you that you are mine. You will wear other clothing only when I direct you to, and that will be rarely. And from now on, you will answer only to the name 'Simon'." A constant reminder of what he had done to Peter, she thought with some pleasure. His own conscience would twist the knife, and he would eventually welcome its silencing. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, you—"

The venom he got into his first word was impressive, so she slapped him before he could further abuse her permission to speak. "You will address me as 'Madam', and with deference," she scolded. She leaned in closer to hiss, "Mark this, and mark it well: the life that belonged to Jake is dead and gone. From this point on you are Simon, and your life belongs to me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Madam," he said politely, much though he clearly wanted to do her harm.

His young friend was under no such compulsion, as a new round of muffled shouts bore witness.

"Ah, your knight in shining armour," she said lightly. "Let us examine him. Stand and follow me."

She straightened and turned to the boy, who swore some more and tried to kick her. That she would not allow. "So disrespectful," she said in mock disappointment, and at her direction Conrad and Peter retrieved some restraints, removed his shoes and socks, and secured his ankles to a ring set into the floor. She studied him as they did so, considering how best to use him and break him. He was fair haired and blue eyed, handsome as humans reckoned themselves, and she would find no shortage of takers once he was trained. His friendship with her Simon was something she already intended to use; her new acquisition had been horrified enough to realise that he had dragged down someone he hated, how much worse would he feel to drag a friend into hell day by day?

The boy himself was still defiant. That anger would wear away soon enough, she thought, when he could no longer deny that his great heroic gesture had bought him only servitude. Best to ensure that he remained gagged until then, though; she did not wish him to disturb Mark's innocence unduly.

"So thoughtful of you to bring a practice dummy," she said to Simon, coming to a decision. In a graceful move she retrieved a knife from her boot and handed it to him. "Remove his jacket and shirt," she ordered, "and we will begin your lessons. You must, after all, learn how to please the men who will use you."

It did her heart good to see the anger on Simon's face give way to fear as, despite his best efforts, he began to cut the clothes off his former friend. It did her heart even better to see uncertainty bloom in that friend's eyes.

"Madam Astarte."

Verthrix's interruption was unwelcome, but she could not ignore it. The Witness Demon was far too important to her business for her to upset him. "Master Verthrix," she said pleasantly, gliding over to where he was examining her other boys. "As ever, I am in your debt. How may I serve you?"

"Is he ready?" Verthrix asked, looking greedily at Conrad. For some reason the little demon had fixated on Conrad as the only payment he would accept, and kept on witnessing for her purely for the amusement value once he had been promised that.

He was also incredibly finicky about the state that Conrad was in. "If you deem him ready," she replied. Any normal demon would have taken the boy there and then, since everyone knew that after six months in her care anyone would be fully broken and ready to accept a new master.

Verthrix had to be different. And difficult, she thought, smiling pleasantly so as not to show her exasperation. Instead of dragging the boy away, Verthrix stretched up and licked his cheek, shaking his head sadly at the shudder Conrad couldn't suppress. So did Astarte; Conrad had been pawed by uglier, slimier beings than Verthrix and still preserved perfect equanimity and poise, but not even the best control she had ordered him to use could stop him reacting.

"The shell is too hard," the demon complained. "Crack it for me."

She would too; that was the terms of the oath she had sworn to him. She hadn't expected it to be so difficult, a matter not eased by the fact that neither of them could articulate what was going on. The best she had been able to drag out of Conrad was that the demon touched something deep down in him that nothing else reached.

She was about to reassure him that she would redouble her efforts when she was further interrupted.

"Cosy little place you've got here," an unfamiliar male voice said from the doorway. "It could use a few more throw-rugs and a few less demons, though."

Really, she was going to have to seriously discipline her security staff.

******

Amy hadn't quite known what to expect. Mr Harris's instructions, as relayed by her dad, didn't amount to any more than "Bring weapons." When her dad drove her to the building they were apparently going to break into, Mr Harris tried to hurry her inside straight away. He didn't even seem to think he had time to argue her dad out of coming along; he just sighed, handed him a stake and told him to try not to have to use it. Then once he'd led them down a set of stairs Amy would have sworn weren't there the first time she looked, he stopped in front of a solid-looking door and hesitated.

"This is not going to be nice," he said, not making eye contact with either of them. "I'm not absolutely sure, but I think the demon running this show is some kind of succubus. She's got a bunch of guys in there; I know for a fact that two of them are victims, and I'll bet the others are too. Try not to hurt them whatever they do, OK?"

"Why, what are they likely to do?" she asked, not at all sure what it was that he was avoiding. It wasn't like she had any idea what a succu-thingy was.

"Get in the way, I guess. From the security footage I saw, she's, um, got them obeying her." He finally looked her in the eye, and she could see how angry he was. "Like last night, only not as quick and easy as that demon was planning."

That demon...? Oh. Amy paused in shock for a moment. Nige had been going to rape Ste and make Josh rape him as well. Before she could pull herself together and stop wondering what 'not as quick and easy' might mean, her father interrupted.

"What do you mean, like last night?" he asked.

"Not our story to tell," Harris said firmly. "Let's just say that there's one less demon around and at least one person still alive today thanks to Amy."

"How is she doing it?" Amy asked before her father could make things more complicated.

Harris shrugged. "Just try not to look her in the eyes. You're probably OK anyway, it's us mere men who are more likely to be in trouble. Just... if you feel any 'inappropriate urges', ignore them."

Her dad wasn't stupid, unfortunately. "You mean sex," he said. "No. You don't get to pull my daughter into something like this."

"I've had a baby, Dad. I do know what sex is."

He ignored her. "Besides, anyone who goes in for that sort of thing deserves all that they get."

"Really?" Harris asked, his voice flat and no longer hiding his anger. "I suppose you can tell better than me when the nice girl you go out on a date with is actually a demon who wants to sacrifice you to open up a portal to hell. Hey, even if it is just me, something had wound Jake Dean up so tight tonight that he wouldn't have noticed if the demon in there actually had horns and a tail.

"But maybe you're right, maybe we should leave him there. Of course we'd have to leave Justin with him, and all he did wrong was try to save Jake, but what's one kid more or less?"

Harris held her father's eye for a few seconds, then turned and threw open the door. "Cosy little place you've got here," he said cheerily, as if his anger had never been. "It could use a few more throw-rugs and a few less demons, though."

Amy crowded in behind him and stopped dead for a moment. "You could have mentioned that they were naked!" she hissed. The only males in the room who was wearing anything were Justin, who was suspended from a nasty, awkward-looking statue with Jake in the process of cutting his clothes off him, and... and she wasn't entirely sure that the short, bald demon was male, but it was clothed.

"And ruin all your fun?" Mr Harris sounded light-hearted, but Amy was learning that there was more to her Watcher than met the eye. "She's all yours," he finished, indicating the leather-clad woman obviously in charge.

The woman hadn't been idle in the mean time. "Protect me," she called over to where Jake was ignoring all of this. She smiled cruelly enough to make Amy shudder and added, "And Simon, kill him."

"Crud," Harris said succinctly, and started for Jake, her father hard on his heels. Amy didn't realise what was going on at first, so she charged the woman as Jake lifted the knife to stab Justin. They were all surprised when the statue moved, dropping Justin as it lumbered over towards her. Amy managed to get one solid punch in, sending the woman staggering back as the bald demon waddled away frantically, before the statue calmly put itself in the way.

Justin, meanwhile, had fallen onto Jake when the statue let him go, knocking them both to the ground and buying precious seconds. Her dad got there first, grabbing Jake's knife-hand by the wrist as Justin tried to fend Jake off ineffectually. Out of the corner of her eye, Amy saw Harris stop and look round, so she stopped worrying about Justin. If Mr Harris wasn't joining in, they certainly didn't need her help.

Amy didn't bother trying to hit the statue or whatever it was, she knew that all she'd get for that would be bruised knuckles at best. Maybe she could knock it over with one of those fancy flying kicks she'd been itching to try out, but that would knock her over too and she wasn't sure enough it would work to try it. Instead she feinted, trying to slip past it, but despite its lack of speed it managed to block her. It didn't strike out at her either, though, much to the annoyance of the woman it was protecting.

"Oh, so that's the way it is," Harris said. "Amy, switch! I'll take her, you get short and ugly." He moved in at the side, an axe out and ready, forcing the statue to shift to cover his approach.

For once, Amy didn't stop to argue. Harris thought he knew what was going on, and he was the expert, so she left him to it. The little demon was heading for a second door, yelling out "Save me, save me!" in a ridiculously low voice. The woman made an abortive attempt to attack her, but found herself impeded by the statue. Unfortunately at her snapped out command, the remaining men moved to stop Amy.

Naked men. Amy shoved the though aside hard. When this was all over she was going to have a major freak-out because there were _naked men_ in front of her, but right now she was too busy. "Sorry," she said apologetically as she pushed them aside, careful at least to make sure that they weren't too hurt when they went sprawling. Given how Jake was behaving, she entirely believed what Mr Harris had said about them being victims too.

She managed to grab the demon by its clothing and haul it back into the room before it could escape. It didn't seem to be up for a fight even as much as the men she had just barged through. "I've got it," she called over her shoulder, sticking it in a headlock to make sure it wasn't going anywhere. "Now what do I do?"

"You're the Slayer," Harris called back. "Make with the slayage."

Amy hesitated. This wasn't like last night, when she'd been so overcome with rage at Nige that she hadn't even thought when Harris tossed her the sword. This time, the only anger she felt was for the woman in charge. She'd beat her black and blue in a heartbeat, but this guy was another matter. While it was obviously a demon it didn't behave like it wanted to kill anyone, it couldn't fight well enough to have kept her off even before she became a Slayer, and it was clearly terrified. Mr Harris had made a big thing about the men in here being victims; could this demon just be victim too?

She didn't get to ask. She heard Harris grunt and his axe clatter to the floor, then the woman called out in triumph. "Stop, Slayer! Stop, or your Watcher dies."

Amy whirled, ready to leap to Mr Harris's defence and try that flying kick to knock the statue away from him. She didn't mean to keep hold of the demon as she did so, and she certainly didn't mean to drag it so hard. In the silence following the woman's order, the crunch of its neck snapping was horribly loud.

"Good girl," Harris murmured, smiling despite being pinned in place by the statue's foot.

The woman screamed in anger. "Kill him!" she ordered the statue. "And you, Slayer, you will wish that I had simply killed you."

Amy knew there was no chance she could reach Mr Harris in time, but she tried anyway. She had barely taken a step, shaken as she was by her accidental killing, before the statue moved. To her surprise, it stepped back and grabbed the woman by one shoulder. "No," the woman demanded, "I order you. _I order you!_ "

The statue seemed to disagree. With its other hand it grasped the woman by the neck and pulled. There was a horrid wet ripping sound, then the woman's body slumped to the floor and the statue off-handedly tossed her head away. Then it turned and walked purposefully out of the door. Amy didn't even think about trying to stop it. She was too busy trying not to throw up at the sight of the crudely severed head in front of her.

"A gargoyle," Harris said, almost reverently, still sprawled on the floor. "I got beat up by an actual gargoyle. Giles will be so jealous."

"We're free," a voice said wonderingly from beside Amy, startling her out of her shock. She turned to see the older of the men standing there, staring at his hands as he opened and closed them. He looked up at her and managed to both smile and look like he was about to burst into tears. "We're free," he repeated, and grabbed her hand and squeezed like he'd never let go. "Thank you, oh God, thank you so much. Conrad, we're free."

"Free," the other man said dully. He stood looking at the ground, making no other move, something that Amy found deeply disturbing. He was around her age, standing there not moving at all just wasn't natural.

Apparently the older man thought so too, because he let go of Amy's hand to reach out to Conrad. "It's real," he said quietly, and he was crying now. "It's got to be real. It's over."

Conrad looked up, and Amy was shocked to see tears streaming down his face too. He was holding himself so still, not allowing his shoulders to shake even a little, but he was crying his eyes out. "It's over?" he asked tremulously.

Slowly and gently, careful not to spook them, Amy put her arms around the pair. "Yes," she said, "it's over. You're free now." She was relieved when they both leant into her, Conrad relaxing enough to start openly sobbing.

Something tugged at her sleeve. Amy looked down to see a young boy, still primary school age, glowering up at her.

"I don't want to be free," he complained.

******

"It's alright, Jake, it's over now."

Never in his wildest nightmares had Justin ever expected something like this. He was sitting on the floor, clutching hold of Jake Dean who was naked and having a complete emotional meltdown in his arms. Not that Justin blamed Jake for that, because his wildest nightmares hadn't included what he'd watched Jake go through either. He still wasn't clear as to why Jake had let himself be raped, and he'd already resigned himself to never finding out, but it had been bad enough being forced to watch. It had been worse to discover that apparently he got off on it.

"I'm sorry," Jake kept repeating. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"You've got nothing to be sorry for," Justin said more confidently than he felt. "I'm the one who should have stopped you."

Jake shook his head, not looking up. "I thought... I didn't believe... How could I want that? How?"

"You didn't."

Justin looked up to see Xander standing there, holding a pile of clothes. Jake's clothes, he realised.

"All of the stuff you were feeling tonight," Xander continued, careful to look non-threatening as he squatted beside them, "all of the things your body was telling you, all of it was her doing. She made you think it was you, but it wasn't. You too I guess, Justin."

"How?" It wasn't really a question, Justin realised, more a denial on Jake's part. He looked helplessly at Xander, having not the faintest idea how all of this could have happened.

"I don't suppose you'd believe she drugged you?" Jake might have believed that, but Justin didn't. He was pretty sure he hadn't eaten, drunk or even breathed anything that could have done this. Xander sighed. "Chalk it up as magic and try to forget it ever happened, huh?"

"Like that's going to happen," Justin said, clutching Jake tighter. Xander seemed to have answers, and Justin was determined that he was going to get them. Later, when he wasn't more worried about Jake falling to pieces on him.

Xander shook his head and muttered, "I can't believe I miss Sunnydale. Can you help him get dressed?" he asked Justin. "We should get out of here before people wonder why an eight-foot stone gargoyle just broke down their back door."

Justin wasn't entirely sure he'd be much help to Jake, given that the feeling was still returning to his hands after being held up for so long by that gargoyle, which was another thing Xander was going to have to tell him all about. He wasn't about to let Jake down, though. "Sure," he said, "pass them here." He lifted his left arm to grab the clothes, his right still encircling Jake, but hissed in surprise as it came away from his side with a sticky slurping noise.

Xander dropped the clothes and grabbed his arm. "You're hurt," he said in concern.

"You're hurt?" Jake asked, looking up in panic. "Oh God, it's my fault, I'm sorry, I tried not to..."

"It's just a scratch," Justin lied, looking at the shallow gash on his left side. It had bled enough to glue his arm in place while he wasn't looking, but it didn't look too bad. Maybe. "It must have happened by accident when I fell on you," he told Jake, "I know you didn't hurt me when you were told to." Largely because Mike Barnes had pulled Jake off before he could connect, true, but Jake hadn't exactly made that difficult for him.

Xander was looking his wound over with a disturbing professionalism. "It needs a couple of stitches," he said, "but it's more messy than dangerous."

Justin thought briefly about how well Jake would cope with waiting in A&E, and even more briefly about letting someone else take care of Jake. "We can't go to hospital," he said. "How would we explain it?"

"Yeah," Xander said, "I'm getting that we need a whole lot more plausibility than 'I fell on my barbecue fork.'" His shrewd gaze said that he wasn't fooled for a minute about Justin's real motives. "I'll get the First Aid kit."

It took him a minute or so to come back with a battered tin box, during which time Justin coaxed Jake back into at least some of his own clothing and got rid of the restraints around his ankles. Where his shoes and socks had gone he had no idea. Given his luck, they'd be hidden in some corner along with the collar that he'd ripped off Jake the first chance he'd had.

"This'll sting a bit," Xander said, producing a small plastic bottle and giving it a quick shake. "We need to clean the wound out, though, plus this is handily antiseptic and mildly anaesthetic. That's a major plus given that all the girls who've ever had to do this for me are not the type to do needlepoint."

Justin hissed as the cold liquid was sprayed onto him. It did sting, not as much as he'd been afraid but enough that he was glad he had Jake to hold on to. Oddly he could cope better with Xander getting out the needle and thread, at least while he wasn't looking.

"There," Xander said eventually, and Justin stopped biting his lip. He waited as Xander put a dressing on the wound and quickly strapped it in place with a bandage. "Don't do any stretching with your left arm for a bit, and go straight to the doctor if it starts looking icky, OK?"

"OK, Dad," Justin said grumpily. Xander didn't deserve it, but the adrenaline had worn off and Justin was beginning to ache.

"Here you are," Jake said quietly. He was holding out Justin's socks and trainers, and a shirt. Jake's shirt, which was intact unlike Justin's shredded clothing.

"You need that," he said, eyeing the T-shirt Jake was currently wearing.

"You need it more," Jake said stubbornly. "Besides, I've got a jacket."

Unfortunately he was right. Wandering around without a shirt on would be bloody cold, not to mention making his bandage conspicuous. "Thanks," Justin said as graciously as he could, which wasn't very. Now that Jake wasn't clinging to him like a scared kid he wasn't sure what to say any more.

No, that was lie. Justin stopped stock still for a moment, one sock on and the other in his hand, realising how much hung unresolved between him and Jake, and just how much of it was his fault.

"I'm sorry," he said, not daring to look at Jake.

"What? You've got nothing to be sorry about. I—"

"I've got everything to be sorry about," Justin interrupted. "All of the stuff with Becca, everything I did, I never even for a moment thought about anybody else. I never thought about what it would do to you. Maybe if I had... I'm sorry, I'm really, really sorry."

He didn't look up until Jake touched him on the shoulder. "You've made up for it," Jake said softly. "It never was all your fault, but you've made up for it. She loved you," he added out of the blue.

"She loved you more, she went back to you," Justin pointed out. "And I had to let my stupid wounded pride ruin everything and—"

"You were young," Jake told him, "and I was lucky when I lashed out. I could just as easily have destroyed her, or you, or even Charlie."

Justin shoved his foot angrily into his shoe. "It was still wrong."

Jake looked like he might try to argue about that even, but Xander appeared in front of them, effectively ending the conversation. "Guys, we need to move. Now."

Getting out of the building turned out to be fairly easy once they picked the right window to climb out of, though Justin had to put up with everyone fussing at him not to strain himself. Getting out of the area was a lot harder. There was no way they were all going to fit into Mike's car, so they split into two groups. Mike and Amy would take the people they'd rescued, wrapped up in sheets and blankets like refugees from a toga party, while Xander, Justin and Jake would wait behind. This was fine by Justin, who didn't want Jake anywhere near the person who'd raped him. He almost suggested that they got a bus back to the village, but he wasn't sure Jake could cope with that yet.

Then again, hanging around with Xander wasn't exactly something Justin was jumping for joy over, either. Justin still had a whole list of questions he wanted answers for, starting with why the hell Xander had got Amy Barnes involved, but he wasn't fool enough to ask while Jake was there and still so fragile. He also hadn't forgiven Xander for not letting him stop Jake before he'd got to the club. Jake could have been spared all this, they all could have, and the fact that Xander seemed to have more idea than anyone else about what had been going on didn't make things any better. Justin couldn't help glowering at Xander every time he looked over.

The silence between them had gone well past uncomfortable, and Justin was beginning to seriously feel the cold through Jake's oversized shirt, before Xander broke it. "Are you going to be OK?" he asked Justin, completely serious for once.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Justin asked, puzzled. "Yeah, OK, I got a bit banged up, but I've survived worse. It's Jake you should be worried about." Frankly, Justin was getting a bit hacked off about that.

"Jake has got you looking after him," Xander said simply. "Who's looking after you?"

"What? No, you can't be around me. You just can't." Jake sounded terrified at the thought, which did Justin's ego no good at all.

"Look," he said, "I know you hate me, and you've got every reason to, but—"

"No, you don't understand," Jake said urgently. He was starting to hyperventilate, making Justin all the more worried for him. "You can't," Jake continued, "it isn't safe for you."

Justin didn't know what to say to that, in part because he wasn't sure what Jake meant. Xander, typically, seemed to be one jump ahead of him.

"You remember what I said about all the feelings you were having being her fault? I meant it. I know it's hard to believe it, but she had that kind of power."

"Magic," Justin snorted quietly. Not that he had a better explanation, not until Xander I-know-more-than-I'm-saying Harris came clean, but still. Expecting him to believe in magic? Much as Justin would have liked an excuse for getting a hard-on watching Jake being raped, being the kind of vengeful idiot he knew he was seemed a far more likely reason.

"But it wasn't just there," Jake said, not calming down at all. "When I saw Craig and John Paul, I wanted... I can't do that. I won't be like him."

Justin wasn't at all quiet about snorting this time. "Jake, the only bloke I know for a fact is straighter than you is me," he said, putting a careful hand on Jake's shoulder. He was half expecting Jake to flinch away, and was pleased to see him start to calm down instead.

"This wasn't the first time you met her, was it?" Xander asked softly. Jake nodded reluctantly. Xander sighed. "She'd already done a number on you," he said. "You weren't really reacting to your brother. Something she said or did or showed you stuck with you, just like she meant it to."

Jake seemed like he was going to carry on protesting, but fortunately their discussion was cut short as Mike Barnes drove up. Justin was very glad to get out of the cold, but he was a bit surprised when Jake sat gingerly on the back seat beside him. He raised his eyebrows and nodded towards the front seat, not wanting to draw anyone else's attention.

Jake smiled weakly and shook his head. Then he shifted to stare rigidly forwards, trying to look normal and failing miserably. Justin surreptitiously moved his hand across to touch Jake's reassuringly, and found himself gripped tightly. He didn't complain.

"I never thought..." Mike said abruptly, then trailed off. Justin craned his head to see him in the mirror; he looked grim. Beside him Jake shifted, leaning into Justin slightly and relaxing a little.

"It just brings it home to you," Mike tried again, "when it's someone you know. I can't help wondering how many other people down the years have disappeared like that instead of leaving town like we all assumed." He paused. "I suppose I owe you an apology," he said, glancing across at Xander.

"No you don't," Xander told him. "You were being a good father, and God knows few enough of my girls have got one of those. Don't ever let me forget that."

"I don't think that's going to be a problem," Mike said, breaking into a grin. "You know she's going to kill you?"

Xander groaned. "If I'd thought there was any chance we could've done it without her... Oh, who am I kidding? It serves her right for calling me 'old'."

Mike chuckled. "You alright back there?" he asked Justin and Jake.

Justin grunted non-committally, trying to make sense of what he'd just heard. So Amy was one of "Xander's girls," and Mike had just given him his blessing? It sounded like something out of _Charlie's Angels,_ and whatever way he looked at it Justin couldn't make it sound any less unlikely.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he was caught by surprise when Mike pulled up and said, "Right, here we are." They were in the car park at the _Dog_. All the lights in the flat were out, Justin noticed; it must be later than he'd thought.

Beside him, Jake started breathing faster. He was looking up at the building with something close to panic in his eyes. Justin didn't need to imagine what was running through his head, that look was enough. "I'll go up with you," he said, and gave Jake's hand a gentle squeeze. The answering squeeze nearly broke his fingers, but at least it gave Jake something to hang on to.

They made it all the way through to Jake's room without waking any of the family. Jake finally let go of Justin's hand to flop onto his bed and kick his shoes off. Justin didn't venture any further than the doorway, not wanting to intrude on Jake's domain.

"Are you going to be OK for now?" he asked.

"Yeah," Jake said. Justin heard the catch in his voice that put the lie to that, and Jake seemed to realise it. He sat up on the bed and put his head in his hands. "Oh God, I'm so pathetic."

"Not pathetic," Justin contradicted mildly. "They hurt you really badly, I reckon you're allowed to be a bit scared after that. I would be."

"It's not me I'm scared for," Jake insisted, "it's Craig."

Justin wasn't entirely convinced, but he came to a decision. "I'll stand guard," he said firmly. "I know you wouldn't touch Craig anyway, but I'll be here to help." He'd sit in Jake's doorway all night if he had to, and he'd be damned if he let anything hurt Jake any more than he already was.

He expected an argument, but instead Jake looked up with such gratitude on his face that Justin felt embarrassed. He looked away as Jake undressed and pulled on pyjamas, which was kind of stupid given what he'd watched earlier but he felt he owed Jake that much privacy.

He owed Jake, period.

Once Jake was in bed and the light was off, Justin settled himself against the doorframe. Uncomfortable as it was, he felt tiredness catching up with him, and he struggled to stay alert at least a while longer. He'd promised Jake.

"Justin?" Jake called softly, but Justin could hear the panic rising again. "Justin, I can't... I... please...?"

He was scared, Justin thought, and he needed to know that Justin was there, keeping watch. That was something he could understand completely.

"It's OK," he said, hauling himself to his feet and stepping over to sit on the edge of the bed. "I'm here, I've got your back."

Jake's hand fumbled over the covers until it found Justin's, and held on for dear life. "Please, stay?"

"No problem," Justin whispered. It looked like he'd be there some time, so he toed his trainers off and lay back on the bed. Beside him he could practically feel Jake relax, though his grip didn't slacken any.

He'd just rest for a bit, Justin thought tiredly, just until Jake had fallen asleep. Then he'd figure out how to slip away. After all they'd been through, he didn't really want Jake to wake up and find him there on the bed, even if he was on top of the covers.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not a good morning for anyone.

Craig opened his eyes and smiled. In front of him was the most gorgeous sight he could imagine: John Paul, lying next to him.

Studying the sleeper, Craig knew that this was what he wanted to wake up to for the rest of his life. He could lose himself for hours watching John Paul sleep. All of his worries about whether he could handle this, whether John Paul would stand by him, whether love was enough, all of that was far away from the here and now. Here and now there was just him, and John Paul, and peace.

"See something you like?" John Paul cracked an eyelid and smiled lazily at him.

Craig reached across to run a finger along John Paul's jawline. "Always," he said, and leant in for a kiss.

They took their time. Last night had been hurried and needy, desperately claiming John Paul before he could slip out of Craig's grasp again, but Craig felt no urgency now. They understood each other, accepted each other, and yes, this really was how Craig wanted to start every single day from now on.

"Love you," he said when they finally broke apart.

John Paul grinned fit to bust. "Love you too, idiot," he returned, but Craig knew he'd understood. Craig really meant it this time, come what may.

John Paul sighed. "I suppose," he said, one hand idly tracing the curve of Craig's shoulder, "I ought to slip out before your mum realises I'm still here."

"Mum can go take a running jump," Craig told him firmly. He meant it, too.

"There's no sense in antagonising her."

"Why not? She's done everything short of throw me out to try and break us up, and she only didn't do that because Jake did it first. She's not going to accept us whatever we do."

John Paul didn't say anything for a moment, just hugged Craig to him. Craig was grateful; it had cost him dearly to say that. He loved his family deeply, and they'd always stuck together through good times and bad, but for some reason this was a step too far for his mother. She was the one who had presented him with the unstated ultimatum; he could have John Paul or his family, but not both.

He didn't think she'd expected him to pick John Paul. She certainly hadn't expected him to keep picking John Paul. Craig could only hope that one day she'd get the message, that he didn't want a life without John Paul in it.

"She's your mum, she'll come round," John Paul said. Craig snorted, wishing he was even a little bit as optimistic as John Paul sounded. "If we don't rub her nose in it, it'll be easier."

"No." Craig had heard the slight hesitation in John Paul's voice, knew it was his fault it was there. Last time he'd tried to deny that he and John Paul were together even when everyone knew that they were. He wasn't doing that again.

"But—" John Paul began. Craig put a finger on his lips, shutting him up.

"She's got to get used to us," he said reasonably. "If we let her pretend it isn't happening, she never will."

"Yeah," John Paul agreed, "but we can do it in easy stages. If I go now, there's a chance..."

Outside Craig's door, his mother's voice rose in an outraged shriek.

"Or not."

********

Justin woke in confusion and not a little pain. He wasn't entirely sure where he was, but he seemed to be a bit tangled up, and someone was shouting at him and hitting him.

"Wha?" he said intelligently, trying to fend his attacker off with his right arm. His left hand seemed to be caught in something.

"Get off him," whoever it was shrieked. "Get off!"

The was a groan from beside Justin, and instinct kicked in hard. Justin's sleep-sodden memory didn't tell him who was there, just that they _had_ to be protected. He managed to free his left hand too, so he lifted his left arm to help defend himself while he sorted out what was going on.

Memory hit all in one go, together with really quite a lot of pain.

"Ah, shhhhhhhh..." Justin managed to not quite swear, and doubled over clutching at his left side. There was movement, and the blows slapping at him stopped abruptly.

"Mum, stop," he heard Jake say. While it was good to hear Jake sounding even a bit forceful, Justin didn't like having been the cause. He concentrated on getting his breathing under control so he could straighten up while Jake told his mother in an un-Jake-like calm voice that Justin hadn't been doing anything wrong. Jake shouldn't have to be dealing with this on his own.

Then Jake was crouched beside him, helping him to sit up on the bed and asking him solicitously if he was OK.

"I'm fine," Justin lied. Jake looked unconvinced. "I'll be fine," Justin amended. "I just forgot and moved too fast."

"Jake, what's going on?" Frankie asked uncertainly.

Jake ignored her. "I'd better check you haven't pulled any stitches," he said, reaching for Justin's shirt. Or rather Jake's too-large shirt that Justin was still wearing, and drawing Frankie's attention to that little detail couldn't be good.

Justin grabbed his hand. "I'll be fine, honest," he said. He hoped so anyway, but anything was better than Jake checking him over in front of his mother. That could only lead to explanations that Jake wasn't up to yet, and Justin wasn't going to let that happen if he could help it.

"Who's looking after you?" Jake said quietly.

"What?"

"It's what your friend said. If you're so dead set on making sure I don't hurt anyone, I'm going to make sure you don't hurt yourself doing it."

Possibly the least tactful thing Jake could have said in front of his mother, Justin thought with a sinking heart. "What?" she demanded. "You seriously think that my Jake would do that?"

"No, Frankie, it's not like that, I—"

"Mum?" Craig appeared in the doorway, bare-chested and hair sticking up every which way. John Paul was at his elbow moments later, his T-shirt inside out, and if the pair of them had come in still snogging they couldn't have been more blatant about it. Justin hoped for a moment that they'd draw Frankie's fire so that he could calm down Jake, who had gone very still and tense the moment he heard Craig's voice.

"What's going on?" Craig demanded. "What's he doing here?"

Justin spotted the exact moment that Craig realised he and Jake were still holding hands from the evil smile that spread across his face. Annoyed as he was that Craig had apparently decided he could go back to treating him like shit, Justin had no intention of letting Craig do any more damage.

"Don't say it," Justin said sharply, giving Jake's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Whatever you're thinking, do not say it. I'll..." He'd what, exactly? Tell him Craig about it later? Wild horses weren't going to get this story out of him. "Please?"

Craig frowned angrily, but John Paul stopped him from making things worse. "You're serious," John Paul said instead, watching Justin carefully.

"Very," Justin agreed. He needed to buy them some time. Everything had happened so quickly since they'd woken up, Jake hadn't had a chance to pull himself together. "I know you've all got questions, but please, could you give us a minute before I have a panic attack?"

That might have made Craig pause, especially with John Paul there to talk sense into him, but Frankie was still on the warpath and in no mood to cut Justin any slack. "If you think that this family owes you even a minute's peace," she said furiously, "you've got another thing coming."

"Mum!" Jake protested in a strained voice. "Please. We need a minute. _I_ need a minute."

That stopped Frankie from verbally laying into Justin again, but she couldn't seem to let it go. "I don't understand," she complained, evidently torn between distress and disgust. "Why are you defending him, Jake? What's going on?"

Jake's shoulders slumped. Justin leaned forwards to comfort him, glaring at Frankie and by now not caring how confused she was. Couldn't she see that her son needed some space?

"You remember Uncle Jimmy?" Jake said quietly.

It meant nothing to Justin, but Frankie first looked angry, then shocked and horrified. Justin began to get a very bad feeling.

"Craig," Frankie snapped, "go to your room."

"What? But Mum, I haven't—"

"Now, Craig."

Frankie's tone brooked no argument, but as if he was determined to undermine all of Justin's attempts to cushion him, Jake intervened.

"No, Mum," he said. "He's old enough to know. He needs to know, they both do."

"No, he doesn't," Frankie insisted. She was very much distressed now, and Justin couldn't help but feel that no good was going to come of this.

"You don't have to do this now," he said urgently. "We can wait til later, when you've had a chance to recover. You don't have to... to get over it so fast." He remember at the last minute not to say anything that would tell the others what had gone on, but he really didn't like the way that Jake was pushing himself, pretending to be normal and then suddenly breaking down. He had to get Jake's family to back off.

"I have to," Jake said hoarsely. "You need to know, too. Please."

Frankie's eyes were practically popping out of her head at this, but Justin didn't care. He was too busy freaking out about how Jake seemed determined to gather up the remnants of his sanity and chuck them off a metaphorical cliff.

"What's this about?" Craig demanded. "What about Uncle Jimmy?"

"Craig, I told you to go to your room," Frankie said angrily. "And you," pointing at John Paul, "get yourself home." Despite John Paul's best efforts to calm them down, she and Craig started shouting at each other, and Justin could feel Jake getting tenser and tenser and he knew he had to stop this.

"Enough!" he yelled, keeping tight hold of Jake. The others stopped, shocked, and stared at him.

"That's enough," he continued in a more normal voice. "All of you, get out now. Once we've recovered, and if I think Jake's up to it, maybe you'll get some answers. Until then, leave us alone." Frankie opened her mouth to say something, but Justin didn't give her the chance. "Out," he said firmly, standing up and leaving an obviously shaken Jake leaning unsteadily against the bed. "Out, now."

Justin herded the others out, and closed and locked the door. He wondered briefly if he'd made things worse in the long run. Looking at Jake, he couldn't regret his explosion; Jake was shaking in reaction to everything that had gone on, and Justin knew that there wouldn't have been a long run if he hadn't bought them time now.

Slowly he lowered himself to the floor beside Jake, hugged him close, and rocked them both back to sanity.

*******

To say that John Paul felt uncomfortable was to understate things massively. He was wedged into the Deans' sofa next to Craig, with Frankie on Craig's far side, waiting for Jake to start.

He hadn't meant to still be here. Truth be told, he hadn't meant to spend the night here, but he'd been so happy to be near Craig again, so intoxicated with the familiar sounds and scents that he'd missed so much, that he'd fallen into as comfortable a sleep as he'd had in months.

Then when they'd woken up, he'd meant to sneak off before Frankie knew he was still there. Craig had more or less talked him out of that before the chaos had started, which had been uncomfortable enough. He was glad that Craig wanted the world to know that they were together again, but he didn't look forward to Frankie's inevitable anger. It was his own fault, though; he had left Craig because Craig couldn't cope with being open about their relationship, so he had only himself to blame now that Craig was forcing himself to be completely open.

When he'd watched Jake have a melt-down and be comforted by Justin, John Paul knew he ought to go. This was family business, and outsiders, even boyfriends, shouldn't be there. It was possibly also a sign of the apocalypse, just having Justin and Jake in the same room and not trying to kill each other. John Paul was curious as all hell, but he didn't really belong there.

Except that Craig had declared flatly that he did. Jake had said something about both of them needing to know something, something that Frankie was apparently dead set on neither of them ever knowing, but Craig had got his ultimatum out first. If John Paul left, so did he. The resulting argument had been loud and bitter, far worse in its way than any of the spats John Paul's sisters regularly got into, and it made John Paul feel quietly sick. He knew how much it hurt Craig to go up against his mother, and he hated being the cause of all that hurt, but nothing he said or did seemed to make any difference.

When, over an hour later, Jake came out of his room, took one look at them and grabbed Justin's hand, John Paul was quite sure the world was ending. Frankie promptly lost all interest in Craig, only caring about why her older son was so fragile. Craig, having had months to let Jake's harsh dismissal fester, wouldn't have been nearly so accommodating if John Paul hadn't stopped him and Justin hadn't glared so hard the moment Craig opened his mouth.

So now they were sat there, with Jake hunched opposite them and Justin next to him, one arm curled protectively around him, just daring any of them to start something. No, 'uncomfortable' didn't even begin to cover it.

"You don't have to do this," Justin said again.

If he was trying to dissuade Jake, he failed miserably. Stubborn as ever, Jake straightened his shoulders and shook his head.

"How much do you remember about Uncle Jimmy?" he asked Craig.

"Not a lot," Craig said. His tone wasn't any too friendly, but at least John Paul had managed to persuade him not to have a go at Jake. Right now Justin might have a pop at him if he did, and John Paul didn't want to be in the middle of that fight.

"Good," Frankie said sharply. John Paul managed not to sigh out loud. If she was trying to get either of her sons to drop the subject, she was going about it the wrong way.

Predictably, faced with his mother's hint that he'd said enough, Craig chose to elaborate. "He seemed to be around all the time, then he wasn't. I don't remember any more than that. I was what, five?"

"Four," Jake said dully. "I was ten." He took a breath, and John Paul watched as his hand sought out Justin's without him even looking.

"Uncle Jimmy used to take me to and from school to give Mum a hand, at least that's what he said. You were always so busy," Jake said sadly to his mother, "what with all the housework and the odd jobs and Craig being too young for school. I thought he was really nice for helping you out like that."

"So did I," Frankie said. She still sounded angry, but it didn't seem to be directed at Jake any more.

"Sometimes he'd take me out somewhere after school. We'd go swimming, or down to the zoo, or something like that."

"I remember," Craig said, smiling for a moment. "You used to tell me about it, and I'd get so jealous. I wanted to grow up quickly so I could go too."

Jake winced, and John Paul saw Justin turn pale. "Oh God, he didn't," Justin said. "Jake, tell me he didn't."

Jake looked at his hands, which was all the answer Justin seemed to need. John Paul should have been shocked when Justin hugged Jake tight and started whispering apologies, but things had started adding up in his mind and he was desperately trying to avoid the conclusion he was coming to.

"He didn't what?" Craig protested. "I don't understand."

John Paul's mouth was dry. "He molested you?" he asked, choosing his words carefully. Craig went very still beside him.

Jake didn't look up. "He took me home, and made me watch... And then..." His voice cracked, and he leaned into Justin, who didn't look like he was ever intending to let go. Both of them were crying, John Paul noticed, and he didn't blame them one bit. He was struggling enough himself not to be violently sick. It all made sense now; all the ugly rage Jake had poured out at them when they'd come out, going ballistic when the news of that paedophile went around, all of it came from this.

"When he was finished, he patted me on the head and told me what a good boy I was. He said that it was our secret, that I couldn't tell anyone, not even Mum. No one would believe me anyway because I was just a kid, but if he found out I'd told, he couldn't be my friend any more. He'd have to be Craig's friend instead.

"I couldn't let that happen," he said, looking up pleadingly at Craig. "I couldn't... not you. You're my little brother. I..."

Wordlessly, Craig rose, walked over and knelt down to try to hug Jake as much as he could with Justin there. "You're my big brother," he said quietly. "I should have known something was wrong."

"No!" Jake pushed Craig away, sending him sprawling. "No, you mustn't."

John Paul hurried to Craig's side, not needing to see his face to know how this latest rejection must have devastated him. He didn't understand it; why was Jake letting Justin hold onto him if he wouldn't let Craig near?

"It's OK," Justin was murmuring. "You wouldn't do it. I know you wouldn't."

"Why not?" Jake asked, keeping a nervous eye on where Craig was. "'The abused becomes the abuser,' isn't that what they say?"

Oh. Jake thought that he'd... John Paul's overstressed mind veered away sharply from that image. He couldn't think of anything to say, because Jake was right. One of the things his mother had left lying about for him to see when he'd first come out had been an article on child abuse, and it did seem that most abusers had been abused themselves.

"Doesn't matter," Justin said soothingly. "You'd never do anything like that to Craig."

"How can you know?" Jake demanded.

"I know because of what you did do. What you let happen because you thought there was a chance that you might hurt Craig. You don't do that kind of thing if there's any way at all that you'd willingly abuse him."

It had the sound of a prepared speech to John Paul, and it didn't seem to entirely convince Jake. He did relax a little, but only a little. "But I know what I felt," he protested quietly. "When I saw them last night, I... it's not safe for them to be near me."

He was talking about himself and Craig stumbling into the flat, John Paul realised. They'd been so absorbed in each other, desperate to make up for lost time, and Jake had been in such a weird mood to start with, he could believe that they'd triggered memories that Jake couldn't stand.

"Look at him," he heard himself say. He had to get Jake to see Craig in the right light, he thought as his brain caught up with his mouth. "Please Jake, just look at Craig."

Unwillingly, but with Justin's encouragement, Jake looked at where John Paul was comforting Craig. "What do you feel now?" John Paul continued softly. Jake was looking nervous, maybe even scared. "This time, what do you feel when you look at Craig? Protective?" John Paul suggested, trying to avoid the l-word and all of its complications. "Maybe a bit scared? But there's no lust there, is there? No want, no need, nothing that would ever make you hurt him."

"Please, Jake," Craig said, and John Paul could feel him trembling. It broke his heart to hear the pain and fear in his voice.

It must have broken Jake's heart too. He slipped forward off the sofa and hugged Craig, who hugged him back as if he wanted to make sure Jake never left his sight again.

John Paul stood and stepped back to give the brothers some room. Justin did the same, and John Paul was obscurely glad to see that Justin didn't quite know what to do with himself either. Now that he wasn't holding Craig back he needed to be doing something else, but there was nothing to do right now. He had so many questions to ask still, but this wasn't the time.

Frankie apparently disagreed. "Why now?" she asked sadly. "After all these years, why did you have to bring this up now?"

John Paul watched as Justin closed his eyes and slumped, absently reaching towards Jake. Inwardly he cursed as his active brain could only draw one conclusion. "Who do we kill?" he asked as evenly as he could.

"What?" Frankie said, shocked. Justin merely slumped some more.

"Something happened to Jake last night," something very abusive given the way Justin had reacted earlier, and John Paul never wanted to know more details than that, "and I want to know who we have to hunt down and kill."

"The person who was responsible," Justin said heavily, "is never going to get to do that to anyone ever again."

"Do what?" Frankie demanded. John Paul winced.

"Believe me, you don't want to know, Frankie," Justin told her. "I wish I didn't."

Craig looked up. "You did that for Jake?" he asked. "You rescued him?"

Justin shook his head. "I blundered in and got caught up too, except I got off lightly. If you want to thank someone, thank Xander."

That made as much sense as anything had this morning to John Paul, and Craig seemed to accept it. John Paul still didn't get why Justin had got involved at all, or what his friendship with Craig was all about, but he understood Justin well enough to know that he wouldn't be able to stand by while anyone was being abused. Justin might not be the most good-hearted guy John Paul knew, but he was a long way from being evil.

There was still one answer he needed, though.

"Who's Xander?"

*******

Ste was surprised that the crowds didn't get to him more. Standing in Chester station waiting for Mr Harris's precious expert to arrive to see to Josh, he'd expected to be shying away from all the strangers around him. It stood to reason after what had happened to him, and he knew he'd only been able to cope yesterday because he had kept himself busy making sure Josh was OK.

It wasn't so bad, though. Oh, he was as nervous as all hell, and maybe he should apologise to Harris for snapping so much, but he could handle it. It was like when he'd been living with his mum, waiting for Terry to decide who he was going to smack around, and while that hadn't ever been fun he was used to dealing with it. Unlike this morning.

It wasn't like he could blame Amy for taking in the waifs and strays that were filling their flat. When she and Mike had got back last night, Ste had been half out of his mind with worry for her. He had agreed with her that they'd look after these people temporarily, and that he didn't want to know why they needed it, but really he hadn't been thinking at all because he was so relieved that she was home safely.

Then they'd come in, two guys and a kid wearing sheets, blankets and _nothing else_ , and Ste had stood it for maybe thirty seconds before he'd fled into the bedroom and hidden himself in a corner. Amy had been gentle and understanding when she'd eventually coaxed him into bed, but he could tell that she wasn't best pleased with him. Who would be, after all?

Then in the morning he'd managed to wake up and forget the insanity of the last few days, step out of the bedroom to have a shower, and panic because there was a small boy running around the place naked. He'd locked himself in the bathroom and hyperventilated for half an hour before he'd dared to undress.

They weren't trying to freak him out, at least he didn't think so, but Ste had to stop himself running for the hills the whole time. Amy told him a little bit of what had happened, and why they needed somewhere safe; not much, but Ste wasn't stupid, and he filled in enough of the blanks that every time he looked at them he saw Nige grinning back. It was all very well for them to have somewhere safe, but Ste needed somewhere safe too, and home wasn't it any more.

They managed to settle the kid down in front of the TV. The younger of the men sat with him, just staring at the screen and bursting into tears at random. The older guy defiantly told Ste his name was Simon, then couldn't look him in the eye as he stammered his way through thanking him for taking them in.

Ste smiled, nodded, backed himself as far into a corner as he could and made a fuss of Leah in an effort to pretend that none of this was happening.

By the middle of the morning when Mr Harris showed up, Ste was a nervous wreck. Harris had brought clothes, which provoked more tears from the adults and petulance from the boy. Them being dressed made things marginally easier for Ste, but he still felt like he was only a minute away from losing it.

It wasn't right. He should be the one being strong for Amy, dealing with all these strangers so that they didn't run her ragged. He couldn't, though; just the thought of talking to them or even just walking up to them made him sick with panic.

Then Mr Harris had mentioned that he had to meet his friend at the station, and how did he get there again? Ste couldn't volunteer fast enough to steer him through Chester's bus routes; it would have been easy to just tell him, but it was an excuse to get away from the insanity, and sorry as he was to leave Amy in the lurch like that he simply couldn't cope.

Amy had shaken her head, kissed him, and told him to be careful.

So here he was, standing at the exit of Chester railway station like a lemon while Mr Harris peered at the arrivals screen. He'd probably get roped into carrying luggage now, while Harris swanned around with this best friend of his. If it got Josh cured he'd put up with it, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

"Hey," he said, "I hope this mate of yours isn't going to be bringing lots of clobber with her."

"Huh?" Harris said intelligently.

"You know how birds are, always carting loads of clothes about just in case they need 'em. If she's brought too much, we'll have real trouble lugging it onto a bus."

Harris shook his head in bemusement. "Sorry," he said, "I'm out of practice translating Spike to English."

"Yer what?"

"Never mind. We're probably OK. Now if it was Buffy, she'd have a separate suitcase just for her shoes, but Wills knows how to travel light. We'll take a taxi back anyway, so no problem."

Yeah, Ste thought sourly, Harris could pop for a taxi if he felt like it. He didn't have to watch the pennies like normal folk, and... hang on a sec.

"So why didn't you get a taxi here in the first place?" he asked suspiciously.

Harris looked at him sheepishly. "You looked like you could use a break?" he tried.

Ste glared at him. "I don't need your bloody charity," he snarled.

"You also didn't need me dumping those guys on you," Harris said sadly. "Two abuse survivors and a little boy whose ideas of the socially acceptable are totally screwy would be hard enough work anyway. Add that to what you've already been through... I remember it being very unfun when something similar happened to me, and I figured you'd be happier out of there for a bit. I guess I just kind of wanted to apologise for dropping it all on you with no warning."

"And you couldn't have just said sorry or something?" Ste demanded.

"Um, excuse me?"

"Not now, Andrew. Ste, I'm..." Harris paused, blinked and looked round somewhat unwillingly.

Standing next to them was an earnest looking young fair-haired guy who couldn't have been more than a couple of years older than Ste. He seemed to be struggling with a heavy medium-sized suitcase and a shoulder bag that was bursting at the seams. And he was most definitely not female.

"Andrew," Harris said faintly. "Where's Willow?"

"The Sorceress Supreme tenders her apologies," the man said, oozing sincerity with every portentous word. "Vital matters require her to remain in London, so she selected me to carry out this important mission for her."

Harris sighed. "What kind of 'vital matters' are we talking about?" he asked.

"Um, vital ones?" the young man offered. "Oh, she gave me a message for you."

There was a pause. "Well?" Harris asked.

"Are we secure here?" The question was accompanied by a significant look Ste's way. Ste bristled.

Harris rolled his eye. "Ste, this is Andrew Wells, our resident demonology expert. Andrew, this is Steven Hay, our new Slayer's boyfriend. He's trustworthy."

The straightforward, matter-of-fact way Harris just tossed that out made Ste's day. He stuck his hand out to this Mr Wells and lied magnanimously, "Pleased to meet you."

"It is an honour to meet someone beloved of a beauteous Slayer of the Vampyres," Wells said, pretty much bowing to him. He might be trying to be nice, but he sounded like a right pillock, Ste thought.

Apparently Harris didn't think all that differently. "You've met Angel and Spike, and you can still say that with a straight face?" he asked. "Anyway, you said something about a message."

Wells leaned in close in a conspiratorial way. Ste was annoyed to find himself doing the same. "There have been incidents," he said significantly. At Harris's glare he hurried on. "All over the country, small villages are being attacked. There was one near here a few nights ago."

"The 'chemical spill'?" Harris asked, putting air quotes around the words. Ste vaguely remembered seeing something in the Chester Herald about it, but he hadn't paid much attention. He'd been more interested in the jobs section of the paper. And the sports, of course.

Wells nodded. "The attackers arrive wearing cloaks and masks, like the Phantom of the Opera. We're not even sure whether they're human or demon. They use a lot of magic, but we haven't been able to find any pattern to what they're doing. The Mistress of the Mystical Arts says that there's nothing of any mythic significance where they appear."

"You can use her name, you know," Harris said tiredly. "This is a report, not a D&D game."

"Willow said..." Wells shuffled his feet embarrassedly. "She said for you to be careful. She worries about you, which is silly because you can take care of yourself, we all can, and—"

"Thanks," Harris said rapidly, cutting off the flow of drivel. "I know better than to take on people like that without backup. So when's the backup arriving?"

Ste's phone rang. It was Josh; Ste picked up hurriedly. "Heya," he said. "What's up?"

What was up was that Josh's mother had discovered that he could only talk in gibberish. She was panicking, not that Ste thought Josh sounded any better, and there was talk of getting him to hospital right away and setting the neurosurgeons on him.

"Stall them for as long as you can," Ste said, beginning to panic himself. "We'll be right there."

He snapped his phone shut and looked hopelessly at the new arrival. Josh needed an expert to cure him, and all he had was this twerp?

They were doomed.

*******

The doorbell rang.

Josh made a move for the door, only to be stopped by his mother. Again. "Get that would you, Rhys?" she said to his brother.

Rhys gave Josh one last worried look, then headed for the front door. If that was the ambulance men come to take him away, Josh called after him, they could bugger off again. Not that Rhys had any way of telling what he meant.

After all the business with Hannah's eating problem, Josh wasn't too surprised that his family had been alert for any odd behaviour. At any other time he'd have been reassured to know that they were paying attention. Unfortunately, right now he was much more worried that they were about to ship him off to hospital where they had no chance at all of figuring out what was wrong with him. The doctors would never let Mr Harris's expert at him there.

"Oh Josh," his mother sighed, "don't worry. The doctors can do a brain scan to find out what's going on. They'll have you talking properly again in a jiffy. Come on, please?"

They wouldn't, Josh muttered to himself. He did the only thing that had managed to get any point at all across to his mother all morning; he sat down, crossed his arms and tried his hardest to look stubborn.

There were raised voices from the hallway, then to Josh's relief Ste burst into the room.

"Are you all right?" Ste asked Josh urgently, totally ignoring his mum. "They haven't tried anything on, have they?"

"What do you think you're doing?" Josh's mum demanded, while Josh told Ste that he was fine, so far at least, and Ste had taken his time getting here.

"We got here as fast as we could," Ste told him. "We were at the station when you called."

His mum clearly wanted to lay into Ste verbally, but she was distracted by more raised voices from the hall. If Ste had been at the station, Josh asked, did that mean that Willow had arrived?

Ste's face fell. "Not exactly, no."

Harris's head popped around the door to the living room. "Hi," he said brightly to Josh's mum, "sorry to disturb you. We heard that... hang on a sec." He disappeared. There was a brief whine of protest, then Harris reappeared pushing a stranger in ahead of him. Rhys trailed along behind them, looking very put out.

"Sorry, Mum," Rhys said, "they barged in past me."

"And just who do you think you are?" his mum asked angrily.

"I'm Xander Harris, and this is my associate Andrew Wells." The stranger puffed himself up at that, trying to look important. He failed miserably. "We represent the IWC," Harris continued blithely, "an organisation that's working on the kind of aphasic glossolalia that I hear your son is suffering from. We were hoping that you'd agree for Josh to take part in some trials that we're running, at no cost to yourself of course, that... what?"

Josh and Ste had both been wincing for most of Harris's speech. "She's a nurse," Ste explained.

"And you couldn't have told me that before I memorised 'aphasic glossolalia'?"

"I didn't know what you going to say, did I?"

Josh's mum was looking less impressed by the second. "If you don't get out of my house right now," she said, "I'm calling the police."

Harris started trying to calm her down, but Josh knew his mother. He hurried over to the living room door, shut it firmly and stood purposefully in front of it.

"Josh, what?" his mother asked.

Josh told her that he loved her deeply, but if it was a choice between going to hospital and going with Mr Harris, he was going with Mr Harris. He looked expectantly at Ste.

"No," Ste said firmly. "No way. She is not going to believe me if I tell her that."

"Tell me what?"

"That he wants to go with us," Ste paraphrased. "Told you," he muttered as Josh's mum fairly exploded with anger.

"Look, can we start this again?" Harris asked. "My name really is Xander Harris, and we really do represent the International Watchers' Council, and as far as there are experts in what's wrong with Josh, we're it." He passed a business card over. Mr Wells did likewise; Josh guessed that he was trying to look serious and trustworthy as he did, but it mostly came out as lost and creepy.

Josh's mum ignored the cards. "There's a perfectly good neurology unit at the hospital," she pointed out.

"Which is nice for them," Harris said cheerily, "but that's not what's up with Josh. It was my first guess too, but it doesn't explain how Ste here can understand him."

Rhys laughed incredulously. "You seriously expect us to believe that waste of space isn't just trying it on?"

Josh took an angry step towards his brother, telling him to stop talking about Ste like that. Ste intervened. "Calm down," he said, pulling Josh back to the door. "I'm not exactly known for my honesty, am I?"

"All right," Rhys said, "prove it. Tell me something only Josh would know."

Rhys snored like a steam train, Josh said promptly. Ste dutifully translated.

"I do not!" Rhys said, outraged.

He did too. It was a wonder Gilly hadn't smothered him years ago.

Ste rolled his eyes and didn't repeat Josh's comments. "How about something you both know?" he suggested reasonably.

Josh paused for a moment. How about he hid something, he suggested, then told Ste where it was?

Ste grinned. "You've been thinking about this," he said.

Josh grinned back. He turned to see his mother and brother looking at him oddly. Well, whatever it was would have to wait; he hunted quickly through the papers on the dining table until he found a pad of Post-Its, and thrust them at his mother.

"Write something on that," Ste said, passing on Josh's idea. "Anything, just so's it's recognisable. Josh is going to hide it somewhere and tell me where."

"And you're going to magically find it without looking," Rhys said skeptically.

"No, I'm going to tell you, and you're going to magically find it without looking." Ste favoured Rhys with his most annoying smile.

Josh contemplated telling Ste to behave himself, but Rhys was well due a winding up, and besides his mother had finished scribbling what looked like the name of a drug on the Post-It. Josh headed upstairs and quickly hid the sticker, having already decided how best to annoy his brother. Back down in the living room, he grinned evilly as he told Ste where it was.

"You've got a Blur poster?" Ste asked Rhys disbelievingly. "A _signed_ Blur poster?"

It took a moment for the penny to drop, then Rhys legged it upstairs. "If you've damaged it..." he warned.

"It's stuck on the back," Ste called after him. He high-fived Josh. "Good one, mate."

Josh's mother sat down heavily. "That's impossible," she said. "There must have been some trick. How can you possibly understand what he's saying?"

"They share a mystic bond," Mr Wells intoned sententiously.

Mr Harris grimaced. "I'm sorry, he's always like that." Wells looked a bit hurt, but Harris carried blithely on. "I was going to say we don't know for sure, but he's probably right. There's magic involved, which means some kind of bondage between the guys. And that sounded so much better in my head."

Josh looked at Ste, who was going as red as Josh felt. By unspoken agreement they took a step apart.

Rhys stormed back into the living room, tossing the Post-It onto the table and muttering about idiot little brothers who had no idea how valuable certain bits of 80s memorabilia were. Everyone ignored him.

"Magic," his mother said. "You can't seriously expect me to believe in magic."

"This would be where I back away and leave it to Andrew," Harris said. "Magic and I have a long history of not getting on."

"I must ask for complete silence," Wells said theatrically. "Magick is a very delicate art, and the slightest distraction—"

"Andrew," Harris said warningly.

"Shutting up now," Wells said rapidly. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and began to mutter. Josh leaned in to listen.

"...Et lux erat. In manus meas lucem habeo. Lux parva, lux pulchra. Deo placet ut eveniam..."[1]

A small point of light began to twinkle in Wells's cupped hands. It was amazing; Josh had kind of had to accept the idea of magic after Nige and Amy and the way Ste could understand him, but actually seeing something like this... wow.

"What the bloody hell?" his brother demanded loudly.

Wells looked up, startled, and the tiny light disappeared.

"Brilliant," Ste said scathingly. "The world is safe from slightly dim places, so long as no one disturbs him." Josh swatted him on the arm; it was actual magic and that was enough for him, for now at least.

"It's not my speciality," Wells whined.

"You have specialities?" Josh's mum asked faintly. She was still staring at Mr Wells's hands, presumably looking for any way he might have cheated.

"His is a bit disruptive," Mr Harris said diplomatically. "So, do we have your permission to help Josh?"

His mother shook her head, and started paying attention to Harris again. "What would you have to do?" she asked.

Harris looked at Wells. "In English?" he said plaintively.

"I will start with a simple examination of the young man's aura," Mr Wells said, still put out at Ste's reaction. "That will show me the state of his underlying spiritual health and any external mystical influences that may be acting upon him. What happens thereafter depends on exactly what I determine." He paused, looking uncertainly at Josh's mum. "Um, it involves burning herbs."

"They're on drugs," Rhys announced. "I knew it."

"Mostly lavender," Wells continued apologetically.

"Great, now you want me smelling like a girl," Rhys said. Mr Harris took a long look at Rhys's carefully styled hair and visibly bit back a comment. Everyone else ignored him.

Josh's mother looked at Wells narrowly. "OK," she said eventually, "as long as I get to look over everything you use before you use it."

Josh hugged her.

Some considerable while later, Josh watched in rapt attention as Mr Wells began his spell, or Wiccan Ritual of Calling Down The Sight as he insisted on calling it. First he dipped a handful of sprigs of sage into water and flicked them this way and that, scattering droplets everywhere — a cleansing ritual, apparently. Then he tipped some lavender into a small brass pan and set it smouldering, which made for a kind of weird but not unpleasant smell. He leant over the pan and inhaled deeply, coughed, and sat back. Finally, once his breathing was under control, he leant over again, extended his arms palms up, closed his eyes and started muttering again.

Something was happening, Josh could tell that much. It felt off, though; not really wrong but not quite right, like a guitar that was slightly out of tune. Most of the time you could hardly tell, but every now and then you'd hit a particular chord and—

There was a soft 'poff' and a small billow of smoke from the pan. Wells reeled back, blinking and coughing, his face smudged with ash.

"Andrew," Harris said despairingly.

"I did it exactly the way Willow showed me," Wells protested.

Josh stared thoughtfully as the two of them argued. He had definitely felt something, particularly as it had all fallen apart. Unnoticed by the others he pulled the pan closer, trying to figure out what he could feel from its still smouldering contents. Mr Wells had calmed himself down and relaxed, he remembered. It seemed to help Josh too; at least when he stopped trying to think so hard, his instincts seemed to be stronger. If he was careful, he could reach out now, and...

...lose his balance. Josh opened his eyes and managed to stop himself from falling forwards physically. By the same token his concentration fell to bits, provoking no more than a slight puff of smoke. He hadn't been anything like as evenly balanced as he'd thought, Josh realised. The moment he'd thought about his intentions and sort of reached out, everything had shifted and he'd fallen flat on his face, metaphorically speaking.

What he needed was someone to balance him. Someone who knew him well enough to counter everything he did, keeping him from knocking the whole mess over. Someone who shared a bond with him.

He looked at Ste. Ste was already shaking his head, staring wide-eyed at Josh. That just proved it, to Josh's way of thinking; Ste knew what Josh had in mind, so he'd be the ideal person to make this work. Never mind that trying to reason about magic using his feelings was something Josh would normally label crazy talk, or that he wasn't entirely certain that those feelings weren't just in his imagination; the most sane thing in Josh's life for the last thirty six hours had been Ste, and that was pretty insane by normal standards.

It would be OK, he whispered. All Ste had to do was to what he'd been doing all yesterday; keep Josh on an even keel. He could do it in his sleep.

"No I can't," Ste whispered back. "I don't know what I'm doing. What if I get it wrong? What if you get hurt?"

He wouldn't get hurt, Josh told him with total faith. Ste had been his anchor ever since Nige had attacked them, they weren't going to fail now. All Ste had to do was trust himself.

Ste snorted quietly, calling Josh a soppy sentimentalist, but he smiled as he said it. A wobbly smile to be sure, but Josh didn't care; he knew that Ste was up to this in just the same way that he knew he was up to it himself. Of course that wasn't something that he actually _knew_ knew, but he'd worry about that later.

With Ste opposite him, Josh found it easy to slip back into the relaxed state he needed. This time when he let his mind drift towards the smoke and what he wanted to do, he felt Ste shifting with him. He could feel the small power liberated from the lavender coil round him, round both of them, waiting for their direction.

They needed to see auras, he said softly, but the words fell lumpen and misshapen from his lips, like rotten fruit dropping from a tree. It needed more than just his intention, apparently.

"The power to see what's going on, to see what's wrong with Josh," Ste continued, and Josh felt something begin to stir. The power between them reacted to the words, growing as Ste kept repeating what they wanted in different words.

It still wasn't enough, though; if Josh had been able to speak, maybe he'd have been able to push it into working, but that was the whole problem, wasn't it? Josh needed something else, some connection that his will could work through. Something personal.

He knew the answer almost as soon as he asked himself what would do. He wasn't going to think any more about that, though, because if he did he'd freak out, and that would be bad. Instead he slipped his penknife out of his pocket and pricked the tip of his left middle finger. He was vaguely aware of Ste taking the knife off him and doing the same thing, then both of them were holding their hands above the smouldering lavender and letting a single drop of blood fall each.

Josh felt queasy all of a sudden, and everything changed. He opened eyes he hadn't realised were closed to see a shimmering, shifting glow in the air. It was like watching water currents move, Josh decided, a pale green river twisting around and through everything. Across from him, Ste was a blur of deep forest green, the same colour that Josh could see around himself. They'd done it, he said, grinning fit to bust.

"Yeah," Ste said, and Josh didn't need to see through the blur to know he was grinning too. Then they were hugging and laughing because this was actual magic and it was incredible, and two days ago he wouldn't even have believed it was possible. "Yeah," Ste repeated, "we did it. We bloody did it."

"Congratulations," came Mr Harris's voice, sounding faintly amused. "Mind telling us how?"

Any other time, Josh would have leapt away from Ste and pretended that they hadn't just been squeezing the living daylights out of each other. Right now he was too high on success to care. It was still a tad embarrassing to turn around and discover that they were the centre of so much attention, though.

Mr Harris (shaded in dark green, with knots of bitter black on his chest and covering his missing eye) was holding Rhys (a greyish red with a thread of crimson so dark it was nearly black running through him), who had evidently had been trying to interrupt them. His mother (a much warmer red than Rhys) was at once angry and scared, which was only fair Josh supposed. Mr Wells (also dark green, splotched with a hazy black that looked like sanded away paint, and shot with frayed threads of faded red), on the other hand, seemed torn between distress and jealousy. It couldn't be nice for him, someone who'd been brought in as an expert, to see a couple of amateurs pull off something that had blown up in his face.

That was the point at which Josh realised that he was seeing all these auras and people clearly, while Ste was just a blur. Ste apparently had the same problem. "Why can't I see Josh the same way I see you?" he asked, still sounding slightly awestruck.

"Because you share a bond," Wells said unhappily. "Willow told me that there's a kind of quantum effect, so that observing your own aura changes it. You can never see yourself clearly, she said. You worked so closely that you're affecting each other's auras. But how?" he wailed. "It's difficult enough for a single highly trained adept like myself, but for two of you to coordinate...? How?"

It was just a matter of keeping in balance, Josh told him honestly. He frowned as Ste translated. Mr Wells and Mr Harris were exactly the same shade of green, he noticed; he had little idea of what these colours meant, but being the same had to be significant somehow. Maybe...

He shared a look of understanding with Ste, then he grabbed Wells and made him sit in front of the no longer smoking pan while Ste did the same with Harris.

Harris caught on the faster. "No," he said rapidly. "You do not want me doing this. Any spell I go anywhere near goes kersplooey. Books set fire to themselves if I accidentally read them aloud. Actually casting a spell? No, a thousand times no."

"Just try it," Ste said soothingly, while Josh wordlessly encouraged Wells to set some new lavender smouldering. "If I can do it, you can. After all, what's the wo— I mean," he amended rapidly as Harris glared at him, "Josh and I can stop you if it starts going wrong."

Harris grumbled a bit more, but Ste was more persuasive than he was stubborn. Josh reckoned it helped that Wells calmed down as he went through the routine of setting up the ritual. The only sticking point was adding the drop of blood. Wells couldn't bear to look as he tried to prick his finger. Eventually Josh had to do it for him, relying on memories of the hundreds of times he'd seen his mother do it in the blood donor service; Wells looked like he might faint when he saw the blood welling up, but somehow he managed to keep it together, and Josh was pleased and intrigued to see the smoke's aura take on a greenish tinge.

Ste handed the penknife to Harris with a cheery "Am I going to have to do that for you?" It had the desired effect; Harris grabbed the knife and cut his finger before remembering that he was supposed to be arguing his way out of it.

Now they should just do what Mr Wells normally did, Josh said via Ste. Wells obediently closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as did Harris a dubious beat later. "Repeat after me: Omnium invisibilium," Wells said.

"Omnium invisib—" Harris began, then stopped dead.

Mr Wells's eyes flew wide open. "Wow," he said.

Josh grinned. He had seen the smoke's aura deepen to the same shade of green that both Wells and Harris were before it slid around and through them. So that was what casting a spell looked like.

"Double wow," Harris said, looking thoroughly stunned. "Is this what it's always like?"

"When Willow has done it for me it's brighter and less green," Wells said, looking round the room in utter delight.

"And when you do it yourself?"

"Um, this is the first time it's worked."

Josh knew Ste was about to say something sarcastic about Wells not being much of an expert. He nudged him and coughed loudly, not wanting to be so nasty to the man. This did at least have the effect of reminding Harris and Wells that they were there.

"Right," Harris said. "OK, so what am I looking at here?"

"We are seeing the currents of Magick flowing through the world and how they affect us mere mortals," Wells said, right back in his role as a 'mystical expert'.

Harris shook his head, but he was smiling slightly. He looked intently at Josh. Josh felt uncomfortable; even knowing that there was magic at work, it was almost like Harris was looking through him, seeing what kind of a person he was. "Does that mean what I think it means," Harris asked, pointing vaguely around Josh's stomach.

Wells peered. "Oh," he said knowingly, "that explains everything."

There were several more seconds of silence as the pair stared at Josh before Ste lost his patience. "Are you going to tell us this great explanation then," he asked, "or are you just going to sit there looking wise?"

"Oh, right," Harris said, shaking himself. "If I've got this right, all the magic around here is flowing through Josh somehow."

"Not all, just a lot," Wells said absently, still studying Josh carefully. "You are attuned to something of Great Significance."

"And that's why he can't speak properly?" Ste asked.

Harris grimaced. "Not exactly. Unfortunately whatever he's attuned to is deeply screwed up, so the connection is kind of screwed up too. If the magic it's putting out wasn't so twisted, he'd be fine. My guess is that the gibberish guy you met was attuned too, and you somehow inherited it when he died."

He had been holding on to Josh when Nige killed him, Josh mused aloud. Would that have been enough?

Ste didn't translate. "So we disconnect him, then," he said, more focused on fixing Josh's problem than how it arose.

"It's not that simple," Wells said. "An attunement of such magnitude is embedded—"

"In English?" Harris asked plaintively.

"It could kill him."

"What?" Josh didn't like the sound of that either, but Ste sounded outright horrified.

"This is something that fits very fundamentally into who Josh is," Wells said, sounding like he was trying to pick ordinary words so that Harris wouldn't thump him. "He probably couldn't have attuned at all if it didn't. Severing the connection would be like severing a part of him."

Well, hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] "...And there was light. I have a light in my hands. Small light, pretty light. Please God, let this work..." More or less. I didn't say Andrew's Latin was good!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damaged people start to turn the corner. Just not necessarily the right corner.

"Finished!" Mark put his knife and fork down on his plate with a clatter and looked pleadingly up at Amy. "Can I watch some more cartoons now?"

Amy pretended to consider the matter while Mark watched her, unnaturally still for a nine-year-old boy. "Let's see," she said, "you've eaten all your lunch, you're still wearing all your clothes, and you've done everything we've asked you. Yes, you can watch some more cartoons." She smiled at him, but Mark was already running into the living room to park himself in front of the TV.

He was bouncing back, she thought. There had been tears and tantrums and requests that she didn't want to think about ever last night, but now apart from the occasional thing, you wouldn't know he wasn't an ordinary little boy.

The adults were another matter entirely. Simon, the older guy that Amy vaguely recognised from somewhere, was all over the place. One minute he'd be fine if a bit quiet, the next minute he'd work himself up into a frenzy just to ask her for a cup of tea, and then he'd catch sight of Mark and burst into tears. He was not in a great way, but at least he would talk sometimes. The younger guy wouldn't even do that. He just sat around dully, doing exactly what he was told and not saying a word.

Amy was well out of her depth with them, and she knew it. She had her hands full looking after Leah, never mind playing psychiatric nurse to people who had been turned into slaves. She really needed help, but that wasn't going to happen today. Mr Harris had warned her he'd have his hands full seeing to Josh, and even if Ste hadn't been needed for that she couldn't have brought herself to ask him. His own near-rape was too fresh; he'd been a basket-case last night even before she'd explained why they were putting these people up. He had been on edge anyway since Josh had gone home, as if looking after Josh helped him to look after himself.

Now there was an idea, Amy thought. "Simon?" she asked, really really gently so he couldn't possibly think she was ordering him about. "Could I have a word with you?"

The only place that was remotely private was the bedroom, which probably wasn't Amy's best idea ever. Ste would have a fit if he ever found out, and Simon was close to panic. Simon was close to panic most of the time anyway, though, but of course Leah chose that moment to wake up and start fussing.

"I'm sorry," Simon said rapidly as Amy picked her daughter up. "Whatever it is I'm really sorry, I'll do whatever you want, just please..."

"It's OK," Amy said soothingly. She looked up at Simon, pleased to see he was calming down. "Nothing's wrong, at least nothing that you've done. I'm just a bit worried about your friend. He's not saying anything, and I don't know how to get through to him. I don't even know his name."

"I don't either," Simon said, looking at his feet. "He was already there when I arrived. _She_ called him Conrad, but she'd never use his real name."

"Why not?" Amy asked curiously.

"It was a reminder of who we were. She wanted us to know our old lives were gone, even the names."

"Oh." Amy wished she hadn't asked, and couldn't help but hold Leah close, bouncing her a bit and making her giggle. Simon smiled wanly. "Well it's her life that's gone now," Amy told him, "and you can have your old one back."

"What's left of it," Simon said, so softly Amy was sure she wasn't supposed to have heard. She pretended she hadn't.

"Anyway," she said, "I'm worried about Conrad or whatever his name really is. Would you help me keep an eye on him?"

"Me?" Simon was suddenly panicked again. "No, I can't. Please don't make me. He's only a kid."

"Woah, it's OK." Amy backed off quickly, surprised at how strongly he reacted. "I just mean to make sure he's OK. What's wrong with that?"

"You don't know what she made me do to him. Or to... to..."

To Mark, Amy thought, as some of the things the boy had said last night started to make too much sense. She felt sick to her stomach, but she struggled to keep it off her face.

"It's OK," she said, and risked reaching out to touch Simon reassuringly. "I know you wouldn't hurt either of them if you had the choice. And I know you've got a choice now."

"But what if I forget? What if I start doing what she trained me to do?"

"You won't," Amy said as confidently as she could. "Besides, I'll be here for both of you. Please, Simon, I can't do it all on my own."

Simon looked at her, really looked just like Ste did when she told him she still loved him despite their latest disaster. Whatever Simon saw in her face seemed to be enough, because his breathing evened out as he looked down at his feet again. "OK," he said, sounding very small.

"Good." Amy forced herself to sound cheerful. "See if you can get him to help make a cup of tea. I'll be out as soon as I've changed Leah."

Simon shuffled out obediently, leaving Amy to recover. That had not been fun, she thought as she busied herself with the routine of looking after her daughter. She had no idea what she was doing, and the whole Slayer thing was no help to her here. Just talking to Simon like that she'd been blundering around reminding him of things he didn't want to remember. She had a really bad feeling that talking to Conrad was going to be even harder.

In fact, talking to Conrad turned out to be easy. Getting Conrad to talk back in more than monosyllables, that was the hard bit.

As far as Amy could tell, Conrad avoided talking at all if he was given the option. Yes-or-no questions received a curt nod or shake of the head, anything that didn't need a response didn't get one, and anything else got the shortest possible answer delivered in a dull monotone. It was like he'd turned into a zombie that couldn't even summon up the energy to go after brains. Assuming that there were such things as zombies and they did go after brains in the first place.

Amy had got pretty much nowhere when the doorbell rang. She managed not to sigh too loudly, and left Simon to it while she went to open the door.

"Jake, Justin," she said, surprised. She hadn't expected to see Jake out and about for days, and Justin trailing around protectively with him was wrong on so many counts. "How are you?" she asked, then mentally kicked herself for being so stupid.

Jake gave her a weak grin. "Getting there," he said. Amy wasn't fooled; even without Justin's glowering presence, Jake looked frayed round the edges. "Can we come in?" he asked.

"Oh!" Amy was about to say yes, of course they could, when a bit of Mr Harris's training belatedly sprang to mind. Never invite anyone in, he'd insisted. Vampires needed an invitation, and never mind that it was light outside, it was still a habit she ought get into. She stepped aside and smiled as Jake took the hint.

"I just wanted to..." Jake trailed off as he caught sight of Conrad still sat patiently at the kitchen table, with Simon staring anxiously at him. He looked up as Jake made an inarticulate noise and stopped dead.

Amy noticed Justin's hand steal forward to brush against Jake. "You don't have to do everything right now," he said quietly. "We can come back later when you've had more time." It had the sound of an old argument.

Jake seemed to take some strength from Justin's presence. "I do have to do this now," he said. "I should have waited before, and now..." He turned to Simon. "This is my fault," he said urgently now. "I'm sorry, I was stupid and you—"

"Woah, stop a second," Amy said, trying to halt the flood of words. Simon looked as confused as she felt. "How is any of this your fault?"

"I led the mob to your place," Jake said, unable to look Simon in the eye now, and Amy finally remembered where she'd heard about Simon before. He'd been a swimming instructor, and she listened as Jake explained how he'd made Simon's life a misery. Somehow everyone had got the idea that Simon had been a paedophile, and they'd all but run him out of the village before they discovered they were wrong. Even after the truth came out no one trusted him, and he'd lost his job and everything. Amy hadn't heard what happened after that.

"If it hadn't been for me, that... _thing_ would never have had a chance to get at you," Jake finished.

"It wasn't you," Simon said, as distressed as Jake was. "If I was going to blame anyone it'd be Gilly, and even he thought he was doing the right thing."

"But I was there," Jake insisted. "Even afterwards, when Max and OB put the record straight, I still convinced myself we'd been right to go after you."

"You had a lot of reason to think that," Justin said quietly, placing a comforting hand on Jake's shoulder.

"But that doesn't make it right! I ruined him, and being scared isn't a good enough excuse."

"It wasn't your fault," Simon tried again, but Jake shook his head.

He was giving Amy a headache; she was used to Ste trying to deny that he'd done anything wrong, so trying to persuade Jake that he wasn't as evil as he seemed to think was pretty alien to her. Something that her father used to say when she was little sprang to mind.

"Would you do the same thing again?" she asked.

"No! God, no," Jake said miserably.

Simon picked up on what Amy meant. "That's all that matters," he said. "What's done is done, and the important thing is that you wouldn't let it happen to anyone else."

"But it happened to you. I shouldn't be allowed to get away with that."

Justin looked distressed at that, but it was Simon who answered first. "You didn't," he said sadly. "I watched her punish you and plan worse, and I wish I hadn't. If I could have saved you from any of that... You've paid the price, Jake. Don't ever think you owe me anything."

Jake finally looked Simon in the eye, though he leaned back into Justin for reassurance. It looked like it took most of Simon's willpower to meet Jake's gaze too; Amy surreptitiously moved closer, letting him know he wasn't alone.

"You're one of the good guys, Jake," Justin said softly. "I should know that if anybody does." He was stroking Jake's arm, Amy noticed, and amazingly the message seemed to be getting through to Jake. Amy gave up on understanding men there and then; how Jake could let anyone touch him right now, never mind Justin, was beyond her.

Little Leah broke the moment, twisting in Amy's arms and cooing loudly. She seemed to have decided that Conrad was the most interesting thing in the room. By the time Amy had her squirming daughter back under control the men seemed to have got themselves back under control too. Both Simon and Jake looked like they'd shed just a little of the weight hanging over them, and Amy began to think that her idea of keeping Simon busy with Conrad might work after all.

Jake turned to Conrad, who'd sat still as a statue through all of this. As he did, Justin's whole attitude changed. He'd been quietly supportive when Jake was talking to Simon, but this time the hand on Jake's arm was warily protective and the looks he was giving Conrad were outright hostile. He might as well not have bothered, since Conrad didn't look up. It annoyed Amy all the same; after everything Conrad had been through, he didn't deserve Justin's suspicion.

"I know it wasn't your fault," Jake said to Conrad. He paused for a moment, a variety of emotions flitting across his face, before continuing determinedly. "I know she didn't give you any more choice than she was going to give me. I just want you know that I understand, and I don't hold it against you."

Conrad nodded very slightly, still not looking up.

Jake sighed and looked down himself. "Can you forgive me?" he asked.

That did get Conrad to look up in surprise. He wasn't the only one; Justin started too. "Jake," he began, but Jake covered the hand that was on his arm with his own.

"I should have known," Jake said. "That first time in the club, I should have known something was wrong. She practically paraded you in front of me, and I was too wrapped up in myself to notice. They should have been going in to save you, not me." He snorted. "I don't even know your name."

"Conrad," Conrad said as quietly as ever. He didn't look down, though, Amy noticed.

"Your real name," Jake clarified.

Now Conrad looked down. "I don't deserve it," he said. It was the longest speech Amy had heard him make so far, and the first time Amy had heard him sound at all emotional.

"What?" It was Simon who spoke first, voicing the general disbelief. "After everything you've been through, surely you can't believe that?"

"I was bad," Conrad said dully.

"Come on," Amy told him, "you know better than to believe anything that woman said."

"Before her," Conrad said. "I was bad. Weak. Evil."

"And you believed the people who told you that, and _she_ played on it," Simon said sadly. "Are you sure they weren't the bad ones?"

"No," Conrad said, forcefully for him, looking pleadingly at Simon. "They're good people. They have to be." He looked away, seeming to shrink in on himself again. "They have to be," he repeated quietly.

"I can go with that," Justin murmured under his breath, not quite quietly enough to escape from Amy's sensitive hearing. She glared at him.

"OK, so maybe you weren't a saint," Jake said. "You've got a new start now. You can change."

"I can?" Conrad asked hesitantly. He looked up at Jake again, and for a fleeting moment Amy saw a hopeful look on his face. Only for a moment though; then he looked down again, his shoulders slightly slumped. He didn't really believe he had a chance, Amy realised.

"Yes, you can," she said firmly. "Ste, my boyfriend, he's changed. Last year he ended up in a detention centre, but now he's taking things seriously, trying to provide for me and Leah."

"Yeah, by nicking stuff," Justin objected.

Amy gritted her teeth and reminded herself that she wasn't supposed to kill Justin. It wasn't worth the complaining Mr Harris would do about having to hide the body. Then an idea struck, and she grinned. Justin took a half step backwards at the sight.

"Then there's you," she said to Justin. She turned back to Conrad. "He actually stood up and lied in court to get a woman sent to prison."

"Thanks a bundle," Justin muttered.

"As if the whole village doesn't know. Anyway, you saw him last night, trying to save lives instead. If he can change, so can you."

"I nearly killed people," Conrad said, as if that was proof enough.

Justin sighed. "I did kill someone," he admitted. Conrad's head shot up. "Becca died in prison. I couldn't take it when she left me and went back to Jake. I was an arrogant, stupid kid, and I wanted her to hurt just as much as I hurt, and she died. I'm sorry," he said to Jake.

"I know," Jake said. Amy watched, bemused, as he reached out to touch Justin comfortingly. "I know you loved her too, and I know you wouldn't do anything like that again."

Justin struggled with that for a moment, then his mouth twitched into a weak grin. "Damn," he said, "you've got me there. Tell you what, I'll believe I'm a good guy if you'll believe you are."

"Deal," Jake said, smiling at Justin as if they were best friends. Amy tried not to stare, but they were acting as if the bitter feud between them had never happened and she was having trouble handling the strangeness of it all.

She managed to wrench her attention back to Conrad, who was also staring at the pair as if they were a miracle. Which wasn't far off true, she reflected. "See," she told him, "there's hope for you yet."

He looked at her, and this time the sliver of hope stayed in his expression. "Can I?" he asked. "Please?"

"It's your choice," Amy told him gently. "I'll help you whatever you choose, if you'd like."

Conrad smiled at her. It was wavery and uncertain, but clearly a smile. Amy decided it looked good on him.

"I'll try," he said.

She took his hand. "Good," she said.

*********

Mid-afternoon in _Il Gnosh_ was fairly quiet. That was just as well, John Paul thought. He wasn't sure how much "busy" he could take at the moment.

After the emotional storms of the morning had subsided, he'd had to get out of the flat. John Paul had taken one look at Craig and seen that he need some space to process everything that had gone on, how it changed everything between him and his family. How it changed things between the two of them. He had quietly stepped back, found his coat and headed for the door.

Craig had met him in the kitchen, mumbled "Good idea," in dazed sort of way, and gone with him. John Paul didn't think Craig had even noticed that John Paul was trying to sneak out, but he was incredibly gratified that Craig wanted him around even in the middle of this family mess.

Craig certainly hadn't been paying attention as they walked aimlessly through the village; his hand had been glued to John Paul's, and they'd gathered more than a few stares. Craig hadn't noticed even the more pointed comments directed at them, off in a world of his own.

They had walked and walked until John Paul felt Craig start to shiver and called a halt. Much as Craig had to think about, John Paul wasn't about to let him catch cold, not with the warmth of _Gnosh_ nearby.

Tony had looked up when they'd entered, smiled, then frowned, and finally waved them vaguely towards a table before busying himself behind the counter. John Paul wasn't quite sure how to take that, but he was grateful that they weren't being interrupted just yet.

"So," he said once they were seated, desperate to break the silence. "Justin, huh?"

Craig blinked, and John Paul could almost hear the crash of mental gears. "What about him?"

John Paul shrugged. "If someone had asked me who would stand there and back your brother up to the hilt, Justin wouldn't have made the top hundred."

"He's not so bad," Craig said dismissively.

"No," John Paul agreed, "but I never expected to hear any member of your family say that either." His lips twitched. "Should I be worried?"

"What? No! Of course not, I..." Craig trailed off as he realised John Paul was teasing. "Don't say things like that," he said with a glare.

"Sorry," John Paul said insincerely. He was glad to have dragged Craig back into talking at all. "It's just weird that he's there for Jake, that's all."

"Yeah." Craig sounded deeply unhappy, though, for someone who'd just been defending Justin, and he wouldn't look at John Paul.

"Craig, what is it?" he asked, grasping at Craig's hand again. "You know you can talk to me."

Craig gave him a look that was so pained and frightened that John Paul began to seriously worry, but before either of them could say anything Tony interrupted.

"There you go," he said, depositing a tall glass in front of each of them. "There's not much that's so bad that hot chocolate won't fix it."

John Paul eyed the tower of whipped cream on top of his glass in slight alarm. "Thanks," he said, reaching for his wallet.

"It's on the house," Tony said. "Just don't tell your sisters or they'll all want one."

"Why?" Craig asked bluntly.

Tony didn't seem to take offence. "If you two are back together again and still looking like that, I reckon you must feel like the whole world's against you. I just wanted to let you know that it isn't."

John Paul managed a smile for him. "That's really... thanks, Tony."

"Anything's better than the two of you sitting here, looking so depressed you're scaring away half my customers!"

Tony grinned and ducked back into the kitchen before John Paul could figure out whether he'd just been insulted. He shook his head and muttered, "I swear I don't know how he and Jacqui manage not to kill each other." Then he turned his attention to his drink and his boyfriend, in that order.

Craig, when he looked up, had clearly taken a sip of his hot chocolate. There was a blob of cream on his nose, and John Paul couldn't help but smile at the sight. He looked so endearing, not that John Paul was fool enough to say that out loud.

"What?" Craig asked, and John Paul realised he'd been staring.

"You've got some..." John Paul gestured vaguely towards Craig's head. When Craig continued to look mystified he realised that he probably wasn't making all that much sense. Well, that's what Craig got for being so endearing. "Here, let me get it."

John Paul picked up a napkin and scooted closer. Then he stopped; there was a much more fun way to do this, he thought. Leaning slowly over, he licked the cream off and kissed Craig soundly before retreating.

Craig took a good few moments to open his eyes, making John Paul revise his previous assessment from "endearing" to "hot". He made a mental note to raid the fridge before they went to bed that evening.

"Did you miss any?"

Craig sounded a bit weird, but John Paul put it down to his usual nervousness about them being seen in public. "I could try again, just to be on the safe side," he offered, and was rewarded with a little smile.

This time Craig didn't let him break the kiss, which was just fine by John Paul. The corner of his mind that wasn't fully occupied with his boyfriend blessed Tony Hutchinson because if Craig could be this comfortable with kissing him here in _Gnosh_ , then John Paul didn't have to feel guilty any more about needing that public acknowledgement.

"Oh. My. God."

John Paul couldn't blame Craig for springing away from him guiltily, because he did exactly the same thing. Sarah Barnes was standing in the doorway and staring at them, a look of horror on her face.

"Hello, Sarah," Craig said. He was trying to sound nonchalant but it wasn't very convincing, and John Paul wasn't surprised that Craig's hand sought out his under the table.

For his own part, John Paul just nodded at her. He and Sarah had managed not to have any screaming matches since Craig left for Dublin by spending the whole term avoiding one another. By all accounts she was still angry with him for stealing Craig away from her, and he couldn't honestly blame her. He'd resented her enough every time he'd watched the two of them together, after all.

"You just couldn't wait, could you?" Sarah said. "The first time I see you in months, the first I even know you're back, is seeing you parade him round like—"

"Like he's my boyfriend?" Craig asked. John Paul gave his hand a little squeeze. "I'm sorry, Sarah," Craig continued, "I never meant for you to get hurt. I was such a coward, scared of what my family would think."

"Because your family is so perfect. My best friend is in pieces because your precious brother dumped her and won't even tell her why!"

Craig shot to his feet, and John Paul had to scramble to stop him advancing on Sarah. "You've got no idea what's going on with Jake right now," Craig said hotly. "Don't you dare judge him."

"Nancy's better off not being involved," John Paul said in a conciliatory tone.

"Oh, stop pretending that you care," Sarah snapped.

"Don't talk to him like that," Craig fairly yelled, and John Paul had to hold him back again.

"Oi! Enough of this!"

Tony inserted himself between the warring parties and glared all of them into silence. "You, sit down," he said, indicating Craig and John Paul. They obediently sat. "And you, are you going to order something or are you just here to harangue my customers?"

Sarah gaped at him for a moment, clearly not believing what she was hearing. "You know what," she said, "I've lost my appetite."

Tony gave them a rueful look as she stormed out of the café. "Meeting your ex never goes well," he said. "I remember when I—"

"Tony!" came Dom's despairing wail from the kitchen, mercifully sparing them the anecdote. Tony hurried away, muttering vague apologies, finally giving John Paul the chance to look after Craig.

If Craig had been a bit off before, he was fully wound up now. He had that set-jaw look that John Paul knew all too well, the look that said he was either going to punch someone, kiss someone, or break down crying. Or possibly all three.

"It's alright," John Paul said gently, reaching out for his boyfriend. "She's only angry because she still cares about you."

"We can't do this," was Craig's almost inaudible response.

John Paul had been expecting something like this. Craig had been forcing himself since they'd got back together, some kind of reaction was only to be expected. "We can take it slower," he said. "You don't have to spend all of your time with me."

"No, I mean we can't do this to Jake."

Cold fear settled in John Paul's stomach. "What do you mean?"

"If seeing us set Sarah off like that... You heard what Jake said. How seeing us together reminded him of how..."

He trailed off unhappily. Mentally, John Paul filled in the end of the sentence: how he'd been abused. "So you're going back to pretending in front of him?" he asked, fear fuelling his scorn. "Hiding me away again, making out that you're something you're not?"

"He's my brother," Craig said simply. "I love you, but I can't do that to Jake."

The hell of it was that Craig was right. If it had been one of John Paul's sisters, he couldn't have hurt them like that even for Craig. "I love you too," he said, on the verge of tears, "but I don't think I can do this. I can't hide any more."

Holding hands still, the two of them sat there in shared misery for what both were convinced would be the last time. Between them, Tony's special hot chocolate, with all its promise of comfort, grew cold.

******

The first thing that Ste and Josh discovered for themselves about this magic business was that it worked better outside.

Ste had begged some of Mr Wells's herbal stuff off him, only listening with half an ear to the explanation of what was in it, so that they could practice some more. Mostly because this was the coolest thing Ste had ever even heard of never mind actually done for himself, of course, but also because it seemed like somewhere in all this was the answer to how to fix Josh. Mr Harris had reluctantly OKed it, but had flat out ordered them not to experiment. Ste had been inclined to scoff, or at least smile, nod and ignore the man, but Harris had gone very quiet and very scary, and made Ste promise. Playing with magic was like playing with heavy machinery, apparently; flick the wrong switches and something unexpected would happen, like say putting too much power in and blinding themselves.

It would all have been a lot more convincing if he hadn't seen Harris as excited as the rest of them after he'd done the spell himself, but Ste got the message. If he pratted around, he could hurt Josh badly.

So he and Josh had sat down at the kitchen table while the adults went into the living room, only to have Rhys start whining about them stinking the place out. It wasn't a bad stink as far as Ste was concerned, but nothing was going to stop Rhys complaining, so the pair of them had moved out into the Ashworth's back yard. Ste would have done some complaining of his own, but Josh had the bright idea of doing them some sandwiches for lunch and making a thing of it.

Once they'd eaten, they spent a good five minutes shifting chairs around the yard. It bothered Ste that he couldn't explain to himself why they did it. Josh seemed to be in the same boat; it just felt wrong until they were sat in particular places, that's as best he could put it.

When they lit the herbs, using one of Josh's mum's old saucers since Mr Wells wouldn't let go of his brass plate, Ste felt the difference immediately. They had some sort of connection, him and Josh together, before they'd done more than calm themselves down. On impulse, he started to say the words, not bothering to prick his finger yet. He wasn't the wimp Mr Wells seemed to be, but he figured it would be stupid to do that if he didn't have to.

He didn't have to. "This is to see auras, see magic moving." The words were barely out of his mouth before it clicked again, him and Josh acting as one, and he could see the translucent green currents flowing around him.

They seemed stronger outside somehow; not faster, like the river Dee did when it got up, more like there was more oomph behind it than there had been in the house. It also made Josh queasier, and Ste had pretty much decided by this point that he wasn't going to think about how he knew things like that without asking. "Are you alright?" he said all the same.

He would be in a minute, Josh told him. Apparently it was a good thing that Josh looked green to Ste already.

Ste nodded. He could tell Josh was recovering already, especially if he was making bad jokes like that. He waited for Josh to get his stomach under control, watching the magic roll ponderously across patio. It wasn't actually as dark a shade as he'd thought, he realised. What made it seem darker was the way it was shot through with black threads, twisting and tangling in the flow.

Like wind-blown spiderwebs, Josh mused. Ste made a gagging motion.

It wasn't like they knew much about what they were seeing, Josh protested. For all they knew, magic was supposed to look like that everywhere.

Ste's gut instinct was that the black was bad news, and he was pretty sure Josh thought the same way. "We don't know where it's coming from or anything," he thought out loud.

Upstream obviously, Josh told him, waving vaguely in the direction the currents of magic seemed to be running from.

"And where's that then?" Ste asked scornfully.

They could always go look, Josh pointed out. Ste didn't need to be able to see him to tell he was grinning.

No one had actually forbidden them to hunt for whatever it was that was screwed up, Ste realised. When Mr Harris laid down the law about not experimenting, he didn't say anything about using what they could already do. And no one had said they had to stick around the Ashworth's house, not that Ste would have paid any attention to that anyway.

"So why aren't we?" he asked, grinning back.

The problem with wandering round the village turned out to be not gawping at everything. The people that they passed were mostly grey, with odd patches of colour sometimes livening them up. There were pools of bright green tucked into corners that the currents didn't seem to reach, and Ste had to squash the urge to go play in them. A riot of colours leaked out of the _Loft_ , but for all their brightness they seemed to leave the green darker as they melted into it.

When their vision faded out, they were through the village square and heading vaguely towards the school. Ste could entirely believe that _Hollyoaks High School_ was the root of all evil, and he was all for marching up to the gates and taking a peek.

Josh, naturally, had other ideas. His opinion was that they should go off to the side and see if they could triangulate. Ste had had enough of triangles when he was in maths class, and he hadn't paid attention to them then, but he let Josh talk him into a compromise. They'd head for the park, which was pretty close to the school and should have plenty of out of the way places where they could do the ritual.

The wind got up a little when they entered the park, making a cold winter day even colder. They found a relatively sheltered spot and settled down to play with the herbs. Once again, it took very little effort to get the magic to work, and once again Josh seemed to be hit by a major bout of queasiness. Ste was going to check if there was anything he could do when a heavy hand descended on his shoulder.

"Hello, boys," Calvin Valentine said cheerily, resplendent in his police uniform with a light, almost glowing grey aura to Ste's souped-up sight. "What's going on here?"

"Er, hi." Ste stuck on his best winning smile, but he had a sinking feeling it wasn't going to do them a blind bit of good. He'd seen the look on Calvin's face all too often during his time in detention; Calvin had decided that the pair of them were up to something, and he wasn't going to give up until he found out what. "Josh was feeling a bit sick. We're just seeing if a bit of fresh air'll perk him up."

Josh nodded at Calvin, looking perilously close to throwing up. Ste was a little concerned at how little acting was involved. "Are you feeling any better yet?" he asked, forgetting for a moment to sound as off-hand and unconcerned as he normally was with Josh. He realised his mistake as Calvin raised a curious eyebrow.

"So how come Josh is feeling so ill?" Calvin asked, glancing significantly at the saucer on the ground and its still smoking contents.

"I don't think the cheese in his sandwich was supposed to be green," Ste said, laying the fake smile on again. Josh made a gagging noise and bolted for the bushes.

Ste tried to rise to follow him, genuinely concerned, but Calvin didn't let him up. "All right, Ste," he said, "what have you done this time?"

"Nothing," Ste protested. He figured that telling Calvin the truth would at best earn him a clip round the ear. "Look, I need to—"

"You're staying right here," Calvin said firmly. He leant down to pick up the saucer. "What's this?"

"Lavender. It's supposed to make you feel less sick," Ste improvised.

Calvin looked frankly sceptical. "And?"

"I can't remember! Nothing illegal, anyway. Have a sniff if you don't believe me."

This time Calvin's expression clearly said 'What kind of idiot do you think I am?' Being a policeman implied that Calvin was all sorts of idiot as far as Ste was concerned, but he was smart enough not to say so.

"So where's the rest of it?" Calvin asked. Ste did his best to look blank, but Calvin wasn't buying it. "You don't do something like this if you aren't making a sale," Calvin said patiently.

As it happened Ste was the one carrying their supplies, though no way were they for sale. Calvin was never going to believe that, though, and Ste really did need to check on Josh. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small plastic bag that Mr Wells had labelled 'Material Components' in fancy writing for some reason. "There's nothing illegal in there," he repeated petulantly.

"Then you've got nothing to worry about, have you?" Calvin said pleasantly.

Ste favoured him with a sour smile. "Are we done here?" he asked. "Only I ought to make sure Josh has finished puking his guts out, if you don't mind."

Calvin let go of him. "Be my guest," he said. "I hope I won't have to come and see you and Amy later."

Ste was most of the way into the bushes before the threat to involve Amy in all this registered. He almost laughed; this time it was Amy's stuff that he was involved in, and she could look after herself better than he could.

When he found Josh, even that much of a thought of Amy fled. Josh was sitting down, gulping air in an effort to keep his rebellious stomach under control, and shivering again. It didn't look like he'd actually thrown up, but that was small comfort. "What's the matter?" Ste asked, dropping to the ground in front of Josh.

Josh insisted that he was OK, all evidence to the contrary. It was just a lot to deal with, that was all. When Ste looked blank, Josh gestured to the air around them.

Ste had been so focused on getting to Josh, he hadn't paid any attention to the magic currents. Now that he looked, he could see what must have set Josh off. The green was even darker than before, the blackness hanging heavy in the air, and it was tumbling about like it was boiling in slow motion.

"What the heck?" he said softly.

They were nearer, Josh reckoned. The currents seemed to be coming from further into the park, not the school as they'd originally thought, and out in the open they were even stronger than they were outside in the village.

Whatever was doing this had better not be much further away, Ste thought to himself. Josh was looking bad enough already; much more than this, and Ste would be seriously worrying about him surviving it. "We don't have to go any closer," he said. "The Watchers should be able to find it from here, and anyway Calvin's taken our supplies. You don't have to—"

Josh did have to, Josh insisted. He could feel that it was close, whatever it was, and it was tied up with him somehow. It was just hard to hold everything together while it was so _wrong_.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Ste asked gently, reaching out to hold Josh's shoulder. It was weird; just two days ago he'd have laughed to see Josh looking this crap, but now he would do anything he could to give Josh just a little relief.

Anything he could...

Mr Harris had told him not to experiment, but he couldn't see Josh looking like this. They didn't have any herbs, and Ste wasn't fool enough to use blood, so the most likely thing was that nothing would happen. He had to try anyway; Josh had said that the two of them matched, balanced each other out, and if he could somehow use that to balance the sickness a bit and take some of it off Josh, then he had to try.

Slowly, he laced the fingers of both hands through Josh's. Josh cottoned on quickly, looking alarmed and shaking his head, but Ste wasn't going to be deterred from this. "We balance, remember?" he said stubbornly.

Josh gave him a wan smile. They were two halves of a whole, he commented, and relented. Just as long as Ste was careful. He wasn't to get himself injured on Josh's account.

Ste smiled back, then settled himself to relax. Josh leaned towards him, and Ste took his cue from that, leaning in to Josh until their foreheads touched. "We're two halves of a whole," he said quietly, using Josh's words as he strove for the formal phrasing they seemed to fall into when they did magic. "What happens to him, happens to me too. I will share what's hurting him, take some of the weight from him." He hesitated, feeling the power poised to tip itself into action, unsure of just how to continue. He could feel them sitting in the right places for the currents around them, acutely aware of Josh's presence, of the way Josh's breath tickled across his lips. He wondered if he should—

It hit him in the gut, hard enough to make Ste gasp in shock. It was like the worst bout of travel sickness he'd ever had, his stomach churning as the waves of magic twisted through. He could feel his skin crawling at the wrongness of it. He'd known it was wrong before, but now he was feeling it, no holds barred.

Was he OK, Josh asked.

Ste pasted a shaky smile on his face and lied like a champion. "Just took me by surprise," he said. "Give us a sec."

Josh at least was looking better, or at least no worse than he had been in the village. If what Ste was feeling now was just a fraction of what Josh had been feeling earlier, it was a wonder he hadn't fallen apart under the strain. "You're tougher than you look," he said, smiling a bit more convincingly.

Josh flushed and looked away, muttering something about not having a lot of choice.

"Hey," Ste said, "none of that." He reached out to force Josh to look him in the eye. "You've always had the choice to let the others fix all this for you."

And let Ste have a go at him for being a wimp, Josh asked, giving him a rather strained smile. No thanks.

Ste felt a little put out at this. OK, so he would have teased Josh about it, but he wouldn't have meant anything by it, and it wasn't like Josh cared about his opinion. At least not before... oh.

"After all we've been through," he said seriously, "I know for a fact that you aren't a wimp." Josh's answering smile was a lot more genuine, and Ste felt something twitch in his stomach that had nothing to do with the wrongness.

"Come on," he said before he could think his way into more trouble. "Let's get a move on before this vision stuff of ours runs out."

**********

Justin shifted uncomfortably. Something about this place was really getting on his nerves. If it wasn't somewhere Jake thought of as a refuge, somewhere he could hide for a bit while he pulled himself together, Justin would have been dragging him out of there and to hell with the consequences.

He'd only got himself to blame. Jake had been so much better while they were visiting Amy at lunchtime that Justin had actually thought that the worst of it was over. It was only once they left — once Jake didn't have anyone else to concentrate on, or anything else to make up for, Justin thought bitterly — that he fell to pieces again.

They'd got maybe twenty yards down the road when Justin had felt Jake's hand tighten on his. There hadn't been anyone in sight, never mind anyone even vaguely threatening, so Justin had just assumed that facing up to the little blond bastard had tired Jake out. "It's OK," he had said, "it won't be long. I'll get you home safe."

"No," Jake had replied unsteadily, "not there. I need somewhere quiet." He had pretty much dragged Justin along with him into the park until they reached a small open space in the middle of some trees, shielded from view by brambles tall enough that Justin would have left them well alone given the choice. Jake had found a way through that somehow avoided them getting scratched to death. He had promptly sat down underneath the tree in the middle of the clearing, his back against the bark, leaving Justin standing there like a lemon.

"I found this place when Dad was doing some of the grounds maintenance," Jake said suddenly. He had been fiddling with a fallen twig that he now tossed aside. "Not many people know it's here. Even most of the gardeners never find the way in. I like it. It's just easier to think without everyone telling me what to do all the time."

Justin couldn't think of much to say to that that didn't come round to asking Jake how he was for the millionth time. "Thanks for showing me," he said eventually.

Jake gave him a cock-eyed look. "I needed somewhere I could be on my own," he said, as if that explained everything.

Meaning that he didn't want Justin around. Even though he knew full well that Jake didn't owe him a thing — if anything, he still owed Jake big-time — Justin couldn't help feeling put out by that. "I'll leave you to it, then," he said, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice.

He was irrationally glad to see a flicker of something that might have been fear on Jake's face. It vanished quickly though; by the time Jake said "Right, see you later," his face was as blank as ever.

Justin was turning to figure out where the way out was when they both heard a crashing noise. Without even thinking about it, Justin moved back to Jake's side, ready to defend him against all-comers.

'All-comers' turned out to be Ste Hay and Josh Ashworth. Justin watched in amazement as they blundered into the clearing, stopped dead and stared open-mouthed at the tree Jake was leaning against. They looked like they were high on something; the clincher as far as Justin was concerned was that the two of them were holding hands and didn't look like they were planning to let go any time soon. In Justin's book, that was about as likely as him and Jake holding hands.

Of course, he was holding Jake's hand, but that was different.

"What the hell is that?" Ste asked in awed tones.

"It's a tree," Justin said sarcastically. That was about as much as he knew — he had no idea what sort of tree it was — but even he could state the blindingly obvious.

It seemed to take some effort for Ste and Josh to tear their eyes away from the tree. When they did take in who else was there, it seemed to come as an unpleasant surprise.

"Crap," Ste said quietly. Josh muttered something that Justin didn't catch, but he seemed to be having the same general reaction. "Sorry," Ste said in a more normal voice, "we didn't know anyone else was here. What are you doing here anyway?"

"We were enjoying the peace and quiet before you came blundering along." Justin was in no mood to make this easier on them. They'd managed to make Jake withdraw back into his shell again, and frankly the way that Josh was staring at him was unnerving.

"Right," Ste said a bit weakly. "Don't mind us."

Josh leant in a whispered something in his ear. Ste took a long look at Jake, then his eyes closed and his shoulders slumped. "Oh crap," he muttered with feeling.

Justin put that together with the way that Josh was still staring intently at himself and Jake, and didn't like the answer he came up with. "You told him," he said furiously. "Amy told you what happened last night, and you couldn't keep your bragging little trap shut, could you?"

Ste's eyes opened wide in surprise. "Oh crap," he said quite distinctly this time. "Amy didn't tell me who else was involved, and I haven't told Josh anything about it. We've had our own troubles, nothing to do with you."

Justin was taken aback by the compassion in Ste's voice. Ste was normally as sympathetic as a pile of rubble, and hearing him sound like he actually gave a damn was just wrong. He was up to something, he had to be.

Josh glanced from Justin to Jake, then finally looked questioningly at Ste. "And then some," Ste replied to whatever question had passed between them. Justin saw the same look of compassion come over Josh's face. He didn't understand what was going on here at all, but he was beginning to get hacked off at being pitied.

"Look," Ste said unusually gently, "you might want to go find somewhere else for a bit of piece and quiet."

"Why?" Justin asked bluntly.

Ste and Josh both grimaced. "There's something wrong with the tree," Ste said weakly.

"It's dying." Jake spoke up unexpectedly. He still hadn't moved from where he was leaning up against the tree, and while he was less withdrawn than he had been thanks to Ste and Josh treading carefully, his voice was still neutral and reserved.

"It's been dying for a long time," Jake continued, "rotting away inside. There's nothing to be done about it; even if we stopped the rot, it's too far gone. But it's not going to fall down any time soon." He stroked the bark absent-mindedly as he talked.

"That kind of makes sense," Ste said, frowning. Josh looked excited by contrast, though he kept quiet. Justin felt himself growing more confused by the second. He couldn't figure out what was going on with those two, why Josh was even tolerating being around Ste never mind deferring to him all the time.

"This is really hard to explain," Ste continued. "I didn't mean it was going to drop on you or anything like that. It's more like it's a bad influence."

Justin couldn't suppress a snort at Ste complaining about something like that. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. "What, like whispering bad advice in our ears?" he sneered.

"Yes! No! I told you this was hard to explain."

"You're trying to take this place away from me," Jake said, surprising Justin with the sudden coldness in his voice. "The one place that I know is safe, and you're trying to take it away."

"But it isn't safe!" Ste insisted. "Look, I'll show you." He took a step forward, but Josh suddenly stepped in front to block his way.

"Hard have to witting stein a hoover," Josh said urgently, loud enough for Justin to hear clearly. "Molten caustic, motley infest."

"I've got to try," Ste said unhappily.

"Wait, what's going on?" Justin demanded.

Josh ignored him. "Marker into felting than noise—"

"I know what Mr Harris said, but we don't have a choice. How else can we get them to believe us?"

"I asked you a question," Justin said more heatedly. He didn't like being ignored.

Josh stared at Ste a moment longer, then stepped back to beside him. He raised his right hand, which was still after all this time intertwined with Ste's left.

"Sorry," Ste said grimly to Justin and Jake. "I think we can—"

Josh let go of Ste's hand.

Justin saw a look of surprise flash across Ste's face, shifting to horror as he started to turn towards Josh. Then Josh collapsed to the ground and started throwing his guts up. In a matter of moments he'd gone from looking wide-eyed if a little rough to a pale, shaking mess that had Justin seriously worried.

Ste knelt quickly and scooped Josh up, wrapping his arms around him tightly. "You idiot," he said, pressing his face into Josh's neck in a way that was just so utterly _wrong_ that Justin found himself moving to protect Jake again. The two of them almost looked... much too close to things Justin never wanted to think of again.

"Don't you ever do that to me again," Ste murmured, gently smoothing Josh's hair. "How am I supposed to protect you when you take risks like that?"

"What happened?" Jake asked hesitantly. Justin reached back reassuringly to him, but he didn't take his eyes off Ste and Josh.

Ste didn't even look up at them. "This great twonk hasn't been able to speak properly since a couple of nights ago. Somehow he managed to get made sensitive to... stuff."

"Stuff?" Justin challenged. What were they on?

Ste did look up then, staring Justin defiantly in the eye. "Magic," he said bluntly.

Magic. Justin was still trying to deny to himself that magic had really happened last night, never mind all those tortured minutes he'd spent being held in the air by a moving stone statue. It couldn't be real, surely it couldn't?

Behind him, Jake went very still. "You can do magic?" he asked tightly.

Ste looked back down to Josh again. "Not really," he said. "We figured out a way to see it, or auras, or something like that, that's all. Turns out it's really screwed up around the village, and it looks like it's all coming from this place."

"And Josh started throwing up because of all these 'bad vibes'?" Justin asked. He didn't sound nearly as confidently dismissive as he'd wanted.

"Something like." Ste started stroking Josh's hair again, disturbing Justin all over again. "Seems that us going looking makes Josh even more sensitive. He just let it all hit him, to show you how messed up it all is. Pillock."

Josh, still breathing hard, managed a weak smile.

Justin felt a knot of worry form in his stomach. He didn't want to believe Ste, but did he dare take that risk? If there was something unhealthy here, he didn't want to give it any chance of hurting Jake. Jake had been hurt too much already.

He looked back at Jake. "Maybe we should go." It was more of a question than he'd meant it to be, and he expected Jake to call him on it. He was doing what he did best, after all; running away. Jake didn't seem to hear him, however, still staring at the other two like a deer stuck in headlights.

"Jake?" Justin tugged on Jake's hand.

That got a reaction, at least. "We—" Jake began. "I—" He began to shake. "I need to be alone." He let go and practically ran out of the clearing. Justin looked at his now empty hand with shock and a little disappointment.

"Go after him," Ste said firmly. "He needs you, no matter what he says." He glanced down at Josh for a moment. "And I think maybe you need him too."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew has information, Conrad has help, and Kris has a shock.

"Druids," Andrew said happily.

Xander seemed more dubious. "Are you sure your friend was right?" he asked, shifting uncomfortably on the kitchen chair that was almost the only concession the quaint little guest house would make to the two of them sharing this room.

"Dom's a bit weird, but he really knows his local history," Ste said from his seat beside Josh on Xander's bed. Andrew's own bed was crammed out of the way in the corner, but Andrew had a feeling that Ste would have stayed with Josh even if it had been more easily accessible. "If he said there were druids round here, then there were druids round here. 'The Village of the Holy Oaks' he called it."

"Then the place that you found must have been their Sacred Grove!" Andrew settled back in his comfortable chair and folded his hands into a steeple in an effort to stop himself bouncing with excitement. He hadn't expected anything like this when he had caught the train so very early this morning. He knew that he'd been sent because he had just enough magical talent to do what Xander had asked for, and even for Xander Willow wasn't prepared to let go of any magic-worker she actually trusted with all those random attacks happening across the country. To have a major discovery such as this drop in his lap...

"Was it an oak tree there?" Xander asked, still unconvinced.

"How should I know?" Ste said. He looked at Josh, who shrugged.

This Andrew could help with easily. He dug around in his satchel and pulled out a small book entitled "Common Trees of Western Europe." It had been his first purchase when he had arrived in London and realised that no one was going to buy any _res materia_ for him, even if he asked nicely. After his stunning success in retrieving the insane slayer from the very clutches of Wolfram and Hart, that had been something of a disappointment.

"Did it look like that?" he asked helpfully, quickly flipping to the right page.

Ste studied the book, and Andrew took the opportunity to study Ste. Xander seemed to have developed a soft spot for the boy, but things that the Ashworth family had said made Andrew think sadly of Warren. In someone who was the Beloved of a Slayer and, if Andrew's suspicions were correct, the Boon Companion of the Keeper of the Sacred Grove, that was worrying. The way that he always had an excuse, how he believed that he deserved better, how anything that went wrong for him wasn't fair... Ste might not be the genius that Warren had been, but Andrew still recognised the attitude had so thoroughly seduced him. He was scared that it would do so again, and doubly scared that Xander didn't seem to notice the danger, so it was up to him to be on his guard. A lone bastion of truth against a sea of—

"I think so," Ste said, breaking into Andrew's internal monologue before he could mix his metaphors too badly. Josh said something incomprehensible. "He says the leaves were the right shape," Ste translated, "but I think it was a lot smaller than the picture here. A lot more twisted too."

"For a powerful magickal source, that makes sense," Andrew intoned. "There is a long-established principle that the inner nature affects the outer form."

Ste looked quizzically at Xander. "It's twisted outside because it's twisted inside," Xander translated.

That skipped a whole lot of detail about the essential differences between natural and true appearance, such as the way vampires used the outward truth of their host body to disguise the inward truth of their demonic nature, but Andrew had noticed that even Mr Giles didn't get to impart that sort of information to anyone who did not have the mindset of a true Watcher.

"So what now?" Ste asked. "We get some druids in and they do something to untangle Josh from the tree?"

Andrew shook his head, trying to contain himself. Somehow, being excited with this sort of news always got him punched. "Nobody has even heard of any true druidical practitioners for centuries," he said. "The Romans broke their power. By the time the Christian missionaries started on England, there weren't any left with any magickal ability."

Ste looked aghast, which was at least a positive sign in Andrew's book. "But what about Wales?" he asked. "Don't they have druids running their big festival things?"

"They're actually Wiccans," Andrew told him. "They had to reinvent everything from scratch, they're not real druids."

"But you can still look stuff up, right?" Ste all but pleaded. "All those books you've got, you can find something that will help in them, can't you?"

"I will put every available resource into the effort," Andrew promised. It sounded more impressive than saying he'd see if he could get any help from the Watchers' research staff. He struck a pose copied carefully from Mr Giles, wondering as he did so if he should invest in some glasses so that he could take them off at times like this. "We are about to embark on possibly the greatest exercise in arcano-archaeology ever undertaken. Working only from the records of their enemies, we are going to reconstruct an entire branch of magic. It will be amazing!"

Somehow the boys seemed not to be reassured by his declamation. Clearly, Andrew thought, glasses were necessary to project the correct air of reassuring scholarliness.

Xander, by contrast, was looking stern. "Remember what we said about the E-word, Andrew?" he said.

Andrew blinked. "Etrygan's _Animus Mundi_? Good idea. I brought a copy with me." He reached for his book bag, but Xander stopped him.

"I meant 'experimenting'," Xander said. "You and me and magic that no one's tried before, that's not a good combination."

"It's the only thing we've got," Andrew said seriously. He couldn't contain his excitement for long, though. "Besides, it's the right experimenting, you know it is. We can do this, Xander. Please?"

"Damn those puppy-dog eyes," Xander muttered quietly. "Alright, you hit the books. I have to get these two home and check on our other problem."

Andrew gave him a full-blown smile of gratitude. He knew that Xander would probably phone Willow the moment he could, and that she was bound to take something so important away from him, but he didn't care. Just to be part of a project like this was something he'd always dreamt of.

He reached for his books and his laptop, already mentally compiling a list of what materials he would need to cross-reference.

******

Conrad sat down on the sofa and stopped thinking.

He had done the job that Amy had assigned to him: Mark was in bed, had had one chapter of his new bedtime book read to him, and hadn't been allowed anything that Amy had forbidden. Conrad was exhausted from having had to do more than react the way he had been trained. Saying no, even to Mark, had been such hard work after all those months of having every decision made for him.

He had returned to his seat, head aching from the effort of it all, and simply switched off. While he stared at the... the... the box with the moving pictures, no one talked to him and he could sit and not-think the way he'd learned hurt less.

He neither knew nor cared how much time passed before he was disturbed. All that mattered was that Amy passed between him and the television, and he had to start existing again.

"There you go," she said quietly, pressing a mug of tea into his hands before sitting down next to him. He nodded his thanks, because it was expected.

"What's the programme about?" she asked.

He froze. He'd been supposed to be paying attention and he hadn't. Now he couldn't answer her, and she would know that he'd been bad and he'd have to be punished even though he'd been so tired because it was still his fault for not being perfectly obedient and she had to punish him otherwise he'd never learn and—

Strong hands took the mug away from him and hugged him. "Hey, it's alright," Amy said soothingly, and Conrad's thoughts flew out of his control like a million shards of broken glass, fragile and fractured as they sliced him apart.

Part of him was ashamed of himself. He'd been trained to accept whatever was done to him, whether for pleasure or pain, and he'd come this close to wishing it would be one rather than the other. He'd been trained to simulate emotion rather than ever be allowed to have it again, and he had started to panic.

Other parts berated him for failing Amy, for not having the strength to be the person she wanted, for letting himself become tired, for crying on her now. Even before he'd been broken by _her_ he'd known that he was weak, and he despised himself now for not being able to live up to yet another set of expectations.

Other, long silent voices insisted that all of this was beneath him, that he was pathetic for ever needing anyone else, never mind someone like Amy. Still others poured scorn on that, an arrogance he had never earned, while others lamented him finding yet another way to fail the most selfless person he had ever known.

"I'm sorry," he said weakly.

"It's alright," Amy repeated, giving him a reassuring little squeeze. "It's my fault, I shouldn't have pushed you."

He wasn't supposed to protest, even though he knew it was his fault really for being so feeble. He was allowed to talk, though, and another of those shards of thought cut him with the idea that a gentleman should never let a lady take the blame.

"You couldn't have known," he said. "I wasn't supposed to show how I felt. I've never been supposed to do that."

"Well, you're allowed to now," Amy said gently. "Not if you don't want to, obviously, but it would really help if I knew when you needed some space. You can be honest with me, I won't make fun of you for it or anything."

Honest, now there was a joke. He'd never been honest in his entire life. There had always been reasons, good reasons, but the truth and he had never been on good terms. Did he even know how to be honest? And yet, for all he'd told Amy that he'd been a bad person, here she was allowing him to be just as good or bad as he wanted to be again. Couldn't she see he wasn't worth it?

Amy released him from the hug, looking him squarely in the eyes. "Is that OK?" she asked.

He nodded, having no words. He was too confused by the feelings overwhelming him, feelings that he had once disdained and that _she_ had ruthlessly exploited. Gratitude.

"Are you OK now?" Amy asked.

"No." The word was out of his mouth before he could think to lie, and that thought broke what little control he had just then. He couldn't stop himself smiling. "No, I'm not OK," he repeated a little more strongly, "but I'm better than I was."

There was a rattle of a key in the lock, and Conrad's emotions fled out of his control again. With Amy still touching his arm, he managed not to panic at the sight of her boyfriend entering the house. For a frantic moment he couldn't remember the man's name, and couldn't help shuddering; all of the shards of himself knew that forgetfulness would be punished.

Steven. The thought came in Amy's voice, neither judging nor blaming him, calming him down again. Her man was Steven, and he liked to be called Ste.

Amy, the real Amy not the soothing voice in his head, smiled at both of them then put her finger to her lips and pointed across the room. In an armchair over there, Peter-who-was-now-Simon-again was sprawled asleep. Conrad wasn't surprised not to have noticed him before; _she_ had trained him thoroughly to care only about what was happening to him, and that only as far as whatever part he was supposed to play mattered.

This time when Amy stood and left him alone, dragging Ste into the kitchen with her, Conrad tried his level best not to stop thinking. Amy hadn't said anything, but she obviously didn't expect him to do that. He tried to concentrate on the television. It was harder than he expected; none of what was being said or done made any sense to him. It mostly seemed to involve three men arguing with each other while a crowd around them laughed.

Conrad was sipping at his tea, still entirely failing to comprehend what he was watching, when Amy came back into the room. Ste trailed after her, looking rather nervous. Conrad wasn't quite sure what to make of the combination.

"I'm going to go out for a bit," Amy said. "Mr Harris says I'm supposed to patrol around the village and make sure everyone is safe."

She looked happy at the prospect, Conrad thought. She was more energetic, more full of life now than she had been through the day. He wondered whether he should feel guilty about that, since he was one of the reasons that she had stayed in the house.

"Ste will look after you and keep you safe until I'm back," Amy continued. "There's nothing to worry about. Even if something does go wrong, I'm only a phone call away. OK?"

Ste gave him what was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile, and a part of Conrad was surprised that Amy didn't punish him for such an abject failure. He was pleased to notice that part was smaller and quieter than it had been. "OK," he said.

He was surprised when Amy leaned over him and kissed the crown of his head. It gave him a warm feeling in his stomach that hadn't been there for a very long time. He didn't even try not to smile at her this time, and was rewarded with a blinding smile back from her.

Then Amy was kissing Ste goodbye, grabbing up a thick woollen coat and out of the door in a whirl of activity and energy that made Conrad think of sunlight and laughter. His cheeks were beginning to ache, it had been so long since he had properly smiled this much.

Ste settled himself down on the sofa with his own mug of tea, squashed hard into the corner well away from Conrad. He didn't look very comfortable. Conrad wondered for a moment if he should tell Ste that he didn't need to be so careful; contact could mean anything, and Conrad had long ago stopped assuming the worst, or indeed assuming anything at all.

"So you like _Top Gear_ then?" Ste asked.

It took Conrad a moment to figure out that he was talking about what was on the television. "I don't understand it at all," he admitted. His wayward emotions proved themselves utterly beyond his control now by filling him with shame. He almost tried to stop feeling again, bitterly aware that he would once have made that statement with pride, but Amy's remembered words stopped him. For her he would try to be honest, even with himself.

"Yeah, well it's not like I'll be affording a car any time soon either," Ste said sulkily.

Part of Conrad made an abortive attempt to sneer at Ste for not being able to afford anything. The part of him that spoke with Amy's voice didn't think much of that idea, which reminded him once again that the old him wasn't a good person. At least Amy was someone he could rely on to stop him if he ever started down that path again. Perhaps, if he followed her lead well enough, he could become worthy of having a name of his own again. If he didn't drive her away first by being such a cowardly mess, that was.

"Amy seemed pleased to be going out," he said sadly.

"It's not her fault," Ste said sharply.

Conrad cringed. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, "I didn't mean—" He pulled up short as Ste sighed explosively, unsure what he was doing wrong now.

"I know," Ste said more softly. "I shouldn't have snapped." He grabbed up a big stuffed toy that Leah had played with earlier, and hugged it to him.

Ste was scared, Conrad realised. Or at least worried; he had lost track of the difference over the last few months. He remembered something being said about a friend of Ste's being ill or something. That must have been why Ste had been away all day.

He should probably say something reassuring, but he'd never been any good at that. The only thing he could think of was to talk about what reassured him.

"Amy's special, isn't she?" he offered tentatively.

"Yeah." Ste's smile was bitter, though, confusing Conrad. "You know, when we got together I thought this was it, I'd proved I was a man. I sorted the flat, I got the benefits we were entitled to, I was there to support her. As if any of it was my doing. All I've done is fixed some things she could have fixed herself and caused her grief."

"She loves you," Conrad said. He was fairly sure it was true, and besides it was the only thing he could think of to say.

"She doesn't need me," Ste said unhappily, staring off into the distance. "When she saved me and Josh, we were so scared that Nige would hurt her, and then she..." He sighed again. "Truth is, she'd get by well enough without me, she'd always have got by well enough, but I'd be nothing without her and Leah. I'm no good to anyone."

He mustn't think that, Conrad thought, alarmed. That was how Conrad had been thinking when _she_... It was how _she_ broke him. "Yes you are," he blurted out. "You've been there for your friend today."

"Josh?" Ste looked surprised for a moment. "He only needs me because of this stupid accident. Once we fix it, we'll be back to normal, hating each other."

Conrad frowned. He knew hate, and what Ste said sounded all wrong. You didn't help someone you hated, that was the point. You didn't take help from someone you hated either. There was no 'we' to fix anything.

"Is he going to be OK?" he asked carefully, not wanting Ste to think he didn't believe him.

"Yeah, he..." Ste's expression put the lie to his words almost immediately. For a moment Conrad thought Ste would take it out on him, he shouldn't have been been bad and spoken out of turn, but then Ste seemed to shrink into himself instead. He looked at Conrad helplessly.

"He can't talk proper because this bloody tree is screwing everything up, and the only person who has any clue what to do at all is a total spaz, and... and the tree's dying, and what if Josh dies too?"

"You won't let that happen," Conrad said with absolute conviction. Everything that he saw of Ste was so familiar, so close to home, that he knew that for all Ste protested he didn't like this Josh, he'd do anything to keep him safe. Conrad wondered briefly if he could help, after all he had known experts... who would probably never forgive him for what he'd tried to do. No, the best he could do now was not be a burden on Amy so she could help Ste.

"You'll find some way to save him," he explained. "There's always a way, even when it seems impossible. Only..." He hesitated; did he have the right to say this? He had to, he decided. There was no one else to say it, and Ste mustn't make the mistakes that Conrad had. "Don't let anyone else get hurt on the way," he finished, not daring to look Ste in the eye any more.

"Yeah, well," Ste said, but he sounded a little less fearful. Conrad decided to let himself feel good about that.

Unexpectedly, Ste reached over and touched him. "You hurt someone, didn't you?"

I hurt a lot of people, Conrad thought. He nodded, unable to look up. "I even tried to kill someone. I was weak."

Ste swore softly. Conrad cringed. "Hey, it's OK," Ste said. "I mean, if you were in the same situation now, would you do the same thing?"

It was the same question that Amy had asked the person he'd helped to break earlier. What would he do if he had to kill or someone would kill Amy? He was too weak, Conrad knew that all too well, and Amy would never forgive him, but he couldn't let someone as amazing as she was die, he was too weak for that too, and it was impossible, how was he supposed to know?

Ste touched his arm again, grounding him. He wasn't alone; that was the important thing. There were people older and smarter and stronger than he was that he could turn to.

"No," he said abruptly, before Ste could say anything. He looked up to see Ste looking at him with concern, enough to make Conrad sure he would have help if he needed it. That he had help right now, that not one of the people he had met since he had been freed would make him face something like that on his own. "I wouldn't do anything like that unless we didn't have any other choice."

Ste gave him a little smile. "See," he said, "you're not so bad after all."

Conrad smiled back. Maybe he wasn't at that. "Thank you," he said.

"What for?" Ste asked, apparently confused.

"For helping me," Conrad told him earnestly. "You're not so bad as you think either."

Amy would be pleased with both of them, he thought.

******

Kris loved his job as a barman at the _Dog_. Not only did all the juiciest gossip get passed on right under his nose, but when it came to public drama and overwrought emotions, the Osbourn-Dean family just couldn't be beaten. Jack was good-natured enough, but Frankie had a finely-honed sense of when she'd been wronged, Steph had all the common sense of a cabbage, Jake and Craig both oscillated between angst and anger like you wouldn't believe, and Darren got on everyone's nerves just by breathing. As far as Kris was concerned it was an smorgasbord of emotional energy, and he didn't have to lift a finger for it.

Not that Kris was as indiscriminate as that sounded in his eating habits. He tended not to have much to do with Jake, for example; first he'd been living in Nancy's flat, and now big brother Malachy had turned up and decided to be Jake's best friend. Malachy liked to play with his food, something that Kris disapproved of strongly; it wasn't necessary around the village, and besides Kris had come to actually like some of the humans. Even Jess had her good points.

That, however, was an argument he'd never win with his brother. Dress sense wasn't the only thing he didn't share with the rest of his family; most of the rest of them didn't give a damn about people as anything but meals. That was the main reason he had moved away from home as soon as he could get away with it, that and his fondness for skirts and heels.

Of course, even the richest food can pall after a bit, and even the Deans might eventually notice being a bit tired after Kris snacked on their emotions. Working in the bar was good for that, too. There was never a shortage of things going on in the village, and most evenings there would be someone coming in to drown their sorrows. If they didn't stay at the bar itself, all Kris had to do was industriously clean a table nearby or collect up glasses, and he could easily spend a few minutes making use of all that lovely energy that was otherwise going to waste.

That's why he was wiping down tables near Justin Burton and the odd American tourist, Xander Harris. Well, that and the chance of overhearing some really good quality gossip. The two of them seemed to be caught up in whatever disaster Jake had going on, and Kris was itching to find out what that was. It was something special, he could tell that much; even Jack was wandering around in shock.

Right now, irritatingly, Justin and Xander had their heads together, murmuring to each other like a couple of conspiracy theorists in full paranoia mode. Xander was boringly calm, his emotions barely worth tasting right at the moment. He'd be one of those people you could rely on in a crisis, which ruined the fun as far as Kris was concerned. At least Justin's emotions were a piquant mix of anger, worry and protectiveness, lending a little bit of spice to Kris's evening. He wondered if that meant that Katie Fox was involved in whatever was going on. Probably not; if Jake had done anything to Katie, Warren would be round here shouting and threatening and generally giving Kris heartburn.

"Jake panics easily around other people since we rescued him," Justin said just loudly enough for Kris to catch. He sounded surprisingly concerned. "You need to have words with Ste about keeping his trap shut." Xander grimaced and said something inaudible back.

Intrigued, Kris took his time collecting up glasses, but it didn't seem like the two of them were going to let anything more slip. Not, at least, until Justin sat back and said, "So what's a Slayer then?"

Slayer? No, Kris decided, turning back to the bar, he was just imaging things.

Xander sighed. "The one girl in all the world, well until recently anyway..."

It was a good thing he was facing away from the pair of them, Kris thought dazedly. Somehow he managed not to drop any of the glasses he was carrying. He headed straight back behind the bar, poured himself a whisky and downed it in one. After putting together the word 'Slayer' and the name 'Xander Harris' and not screaming and running away, he reckoned he deserved it. He'd better think of a reason to get out of here pronto—

"Slow down, laddie," Jack said, putting a hand on Kris's shoulder. "Whatever it is, it can't be that bad."

Oh yes it can, Kris thought, but he pasted on a smile out of long habit. "Sorry, Jack, it's just been one of those days."

"Aye, but you want to be careful about that. If you think you need a drink, the last place you want to be is behind a bar."

Jack was genuinely concerned about him. Kris was touched, even though he knew that it was practically reflex on Jack's part and the emotion itself tasted as insipid as usual. "You know me," he said cheerily. "Give me five minutes and I'll be a regular ray of sunshine again."

Jack gave him a long look, then shook his head. "You get yourself home and rest up," he said. "It is nearly Christmas after all. You come back when you're ready to face the world again, OK?"

Kris protested a little more for form's sake, but allowed himself to be talked into going home. It was exactly what he needed right now, after all; keeping his head down now that the village had suddenly become a dangerous place to be a demon. He didn't have much to do with the almost non-existent demon community around here at the best of times, so no one would care if he dropped out of sight for a bit. Most of them took one look at his eyeliner and pretended he wasn't there anyway.

He met Malachy outside the SU Bar, which meant, he thought sourly, that Mal would invite himself into the flat and make a damn nuisance of himself when Kris wanted to be alone. It didn't help that Mal seemed to be in a ridiculously good mood. "And what's up with you then?" Kris snapped. "Mugged a little old lady for her pension?"

"I'm hurt that you could even imagine such a thing, Francis," Mal said expansively. He was definitely up to something, Kris thought as he glowered at his brother. "As it happens I have managed to clear my gambling debts without any help from you," Malachy continued, as if he could expect Kris to have any money to throw about.

"Through the sweat of your own brow, I'm sure," Kris shot back. Then he put two and two together. "It wouldn't have had something to do with whatever's happened to Jake Dean, would it?"

Malachy shrugged, grinning. "Can I help it if a certain person I owed reckoned that he made a fine addition to her collection?"

"Mal!"

"Come on, it's not as if you don't feed off everyone around you."

"There's a difference between nibbling at the buffet and cooking yourself a three course meal!"

"Oh spare me the lecture," Malachy said caustically. "Jake was falling apart long before I came on the scene, and I didn't see you playing Mother Theresa to him."

"Yeah, well unlike you I have actual friends to worry about," Kris shot back. Not that his brother would ever understand, but it was the principle of the thing.

"The way I see it I'm doing everyone a favour," Malachy continued, blithely ignoring Kris's comment. "Jake's family won't have to watch him come unhinged, and Astarte can still make use of him."

"Astarte? Malachy Fisher, have you lost what little mind you had? What on earth possessed you to get into debt with that bitch in the first place? Do you know what she could have done to you?"

"Don't get all holier-than-thou with me, Francis. I've sorted it all out, none the worse for wear. No one's going to see Jake again, never mind figure out that I'm connected with his disappearance. Not unless you do something, and I can't see you riding to his rescue in that skirt."

"I would," Kris lied, "but the White Knight beat me to it."

Malachy stared at him for a moment, then laughed. "As if. He's supposed to be killing demons in Africa."

"Unless you know of a different Xander Harris who would be sitting in _Dog_ right now talking about Slayers, then he's here."

Malachy stared at him hard this time. "You're serious," he said.

"As a heart attack." Kris pressed a hand to his head wearily. "Right, this is what's going to happen. You're going to pack up and leave town right now. I'll stick around and keep my head down, make sure no one twigs this is all your fault too quickly. Don't even think about coming back here; if anyone does guess and I don't hear about it, you'll get a visit from some lovely lady in the middle of the night and that'll be that."

"Right." Malachy hesitated a moment. "Francis..."

"Oh for God's sake, why can't you call me 'Kris' like everyone else here? Just the once?"

Malachy shuffled uneasily. "Just be safe, that's all," he said, then turned and left.

Kris managed not to sigh. He wasn't surprised that Mal couldn't bring himself to use the name Kris had given himself rather than the one he'd been born with, but it still rankled. At least he'd be safe from unexpected Slayers now, and he wouldn't be hanging around Hollyoaks making Kris feel inadequate either. A win all round, he thought, turning back towards his student digs.

"So," Xander Harris said, stepping out of the shadows. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't set my Slayer on the big bad demon."

For a moment, Kris was too terrified to speak. "He'll be gone before she could catch up with him," he said urgently once his vocal chords unparalysed. "Besides, he was only a little fish in this. You've already dealt with the real problem." He hoped.

"I was talking about you," Xander said evenly.

"Me?" Kris squeaked. "I haven't hurt a hair on the head of anyone since I came here. OK, so I live off their anger and resentment, but it's not like I even have to stir any of that up round here, and..." And Xander seemed remarkably calm, amused even, at Kris's babbling. "Besides, I'm too fabulous to die," he finished with what he hoped looked like a cheeky grin.

Xander shook his head. "You're a Fiska demon, aren't you?" he said. "So you're reading my emotions right now."

"And you're about as serious as John Paul McQueen running for Pope. Why?"

Xander shrugged. "I heard you speaking to your brother," he said. "All that talk of looking out for other people, and sticking around to make sure that he'd be safe, that was pretty selfless stuff for a demon."

"Are you kidding?" Kris asked, grinning broadly. "I've been trying to get him out of my hair ever since he arrived."

Xander grinned back, but then his expression and emotions both turned steely-serious. "Understand this, though. If I find out you've hurt any of the humans, you'd better get out of town before I find you. Otherwise we'll be having a much less friendly conversation, and you won't be walking away from it."

Kris gulped. "Understood," he said. He couldn't resist adding, "I suppose a trip to the S&M parlour is out, then?"

Xander was still sniggering as he disappeared back into the shadows.

******

It was late before Justin even had a chance of getting to sleep. That was the downside of crashing with the Valentines; he couldn't kip on the couch while anyone else was up and about.

Of course, curling up under a blanket and actually falling asleep were two different things, and Justin was having no more luck with the latter than he had with the former. He'd had questions for Xander since this whole mess had started, and Josh and Ste blundering into things this afternoon hadn't made him any less confused. He'd shoved his confusion aside while he caught up with Jake and calmed him back down again, because Jake didn't need to be dealing with how screwed up Justin felt, not in his state. Though in truth, the only thing that had really calmed Jake down was having Charlie dumped in his lap. By the time Justin had finished telling the baby how big and strong and clever his father was, Jake had looked like he might almost be happy. Almost.

Later on, Justin had confronted Xander in the pub and demanded explanations. Xander had looked at him very seriously and asked if he was sure he wanted to know, and of course he had said yes. So Xander had told him.

Now here he was, lying on his makeshift bed, still totally and utterly confused and completely unable to sleep into the bargain.

On the face of it, it was absurd. How could there be demons running about and nobody ever noticed? How could someone like little Amy Barnes suddenly turn into some kind of Wonder Woman? How could magic exist when everyone knew it was impossible? If Justin hadn't been there and seen it, and had to admit that he didn't have any other explanation for it, he'd have laughed in Xander's face.

Which would probably be about as smart as laughing in Warren's face, he thought ruefully.

That still left Justin flailing when it came to helping Jake, with added bewilderment from Ste's words. Xander had been evasive when Justin had quizzed him about the boys; all he'd say was that it was a big mess and he'd got someone else in to straighten it out, but Josh and Ste were important and if they were doing something weird there was probably a good reason for it. Justin didn't mention just what it was that Ste had said, only partly because he was too busy trying to get his head around the idea of Ste Hay not lying through his teeth.

On the face of it, the idea that Ste had dropped on him was absurd. Sure, Jake needed someone to make him feel safe right now, and not only was Justin the one who happened to be there, but he also owed Jake way more than he'd ever be able to repay. That much was obvious, even Ste couldn't have missed it. The other bit, however, about Justin needing Jake, that he couldn't make any sense of. If it had been Calvin or Carmel lecturing him, he'd have reckoned that they meant that helping Jake out was his penance, and he'd be better for it. From Ste, that idea was laughable. From a Ste talking about magic and connections and things being screwed up... Justin had no idea at all.

It was well past midnight, and Justin was no nearer sleep than when he'd first laid down, when his phone rang.

"Jake?" he said, not bothering to look at the caller ID. Who else would be calling him this late at night? "What's up?"

"Justin?" Jake's voice was tight, as if he was barely holding on.

Justin didn't need to hear any more. "I'll be there in five minutes," he promised, throwing off the blanket and grabbing up his trousers. "Can you hold on that long?"

"I don't know. I... hurry, please."

"I will." He could do his belt up later, he thought, shoving a sockless foot into a trainer. "And I know you can make it, Jake. You're the strongest person I know. Just talk to me."

"Talk? What about?"

Justin hunted for inspiration and his keys. "Steph. How's Steph been?"

A few minutes later, out of breath and under-dressed but still doing his best to keep Jake talking, Justin arrived at the _Dog_. Jake was holding the side door open a crack, hiding behind it and looking only marginally less fragile than he sounded, but he was quick to let Justin in.

"It's alright," Justin panted, snapping his phone closed now that he could talk to Jake directly. "I'm here now. You're safe. _They're_ safe." He put a hand on the sleeve of Jake's dressing gown, and suddenly Jake was hugging him, holding on for dear life. He managed to muffle a yelp as his injured side was squeezed; Jake's sanity was more important than a little pain.

It took a while for Jake to stop shaking. Justin didn't care; he'd stand there all night if he had to. "It'll be alright," he kept murmuring, hugging Jake back and rocking gently. It would be alright, he promised himself. If he had to take out every demon in England to make Jake feel better, he would.

"You're cold," Jake said eventually.

"Not important," Justin told him. He was cold, but pulling his sweater on while he was running would have slowed him down.

"Yes it is," Jake insisted. He pulled away a little to stare Justin straight in the eyes. "I don't want you coming down with something because I'm in a panic. You're more important than that."

"If you need me, I'll be here, cold or no cold," Justin said stoutly.

"Yeah, because if you come down with flu, I'll be looking after you," Jake said.

He meant it, Justin realised. He was sounding stronger too, with something other than himself to think about. Maybe that was what Jake really needed, someone who needed looking out for. Given his history, Justin was that in spades; pretty much every decision he'd ever made, up to and including following Jake into that club, had been a total disaster. Maybe that's what Ste had been talking about.

"Come on then," he said, guiding Jake over to the stairs. "Let's get you to bed before we both come down with flu."

Jake's answering smile gave him a warm feeling that had nothing to do with the arm still around his waist.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew figures it out. Much to Amy's distress, Josh and Ste have a mission.

Justin woke feeling calmer and better rested than he had for days. He lay there for a moment, luxuriating in being stretched full length rather than cramped up on the couch, safe and secure.

On top of the covers. Still wearing his clothes. With one arm loosely around someone else, and someone else's arm draped over him. With that sense of calm slowly turning to dread, Justin cautiously opened one eye.

He was lying more or less nose to nose with Jake.

Justin closed his eye and tried to think. If Jake woke up now, he'd have a major fit and Justin honestly wouldn't blame him. Justin was supposed to be reassuring Jake that nothing was going to get at him, and Jake wasn't going to get at anyone either. Justin falling asleep on his bed two nights running wasn't exactly going to reassure him. Waking up with Justin way inside his personal space, even though they were on opposite sides of the covers, would be so far from reassuring... well, it was making Justin nervous, and Justin wasn't the one who'd been raped.

Obviously he needed to put some distance between them before Jake woke up and realised what was going on. That meant trying to untangle himself, and slipping out from under Jake's arm without waking him. And that, Justin thought, was going to be a real challenge when he wasn't entirely awake himself yet.

Slowly and carefully he inched his way across the bed, gently lifting the arm slung loosely over him so as to avoid disturbing Jake. He was just congratulating himself on reaching the edge when Jake stirred, frowned, and reached out.

And Justin fell off the bed.

There was a noise of rapid scrambling from above him, and that combined with his fall made Justin swear out loud. He had just managed to do exactly what he wanted to avoid, letting Jake wake up scared. With the noise and disturbance, it was no wonder that Jake was scooting away from—

"Justin?" Jake peered over the bed, concern rather than fear on his face. "Are you OK?" he asked, climbing down beside him.

"Uh, yeah," Justin said, confused. "I fell off the bed." It was a stupid thing to say, but stupid seemed to be what he was this morning.

"You...?" Jake looked at him narrowly for a moment, then started grinning. "You fell off the bed."

"Oh, you can laugh," Justin groused, but he was grinning too. Jake was OK; mission, despite Justin's lousy efforts, accomplished.

"Seriously?" Jake asked, laughing openly now. "You klutz."

Justin joined him, laughing in relief as much as anything. Then he pushed himself upright and hissed as his stitches pulled at his side.

Abruptly, Jake wasn't laughing any more.

"I'm OK," Justin said quickly. He reckoned it wasn't a lie; his wound stung a bit when he moved too fast, but that was only to be expected.

"Let's see." Jake reached for Justin's shirt and started to unbutton it.

"I said I'm fine," Justin told him, trying to bat his hands away.

"Then it won't matter if I check, will it? Please?"

It was the way Jake's "reasonable voice" broke on that last word that stopped Justin. He didn't know whether he was coming or going with Jake, whether Jake wanted him around or not. Sometimes Jake seemed so strong, and then the next minute he'd be using Justin to keep himself busy and it was painful to see him so fragile. Justin remembered the idea he'd had last night, that maybe Jake needed to look after him, to feel that he was in control of something. With Jake in front of him looking so desperate to help, Justin could only nod his assent.

With Justin's shirt off and his vest pulled up, Jake carefully peeled the dressing back. He sat there looking at it for a moment, long enough for Justin to begin to worry, then said, "I'm sorry."

"What?" Justin craned his head anxiously. He couldn't see it very well, but the cut didn't look horribly infected or anything. It was a bit messy and a little red, though. "What's wrong with it?"

"No, I mean I'm sorry I hurt you. I could have killed you."

Oh. Justin didn't have time to wallow in his stupidity, though, not with Jake falling apart on him again.

"It wasn't your fault," he said, taking Jake's hands in his own. "There was nothing you could do about it. Even if you'd been in control, it happened when we fell over. It's as much my fault as anything."

"But I should have been able to," Jake protested weakly. "I should have caught you. I should have been strong enough to do that."

"No one should have to be that strong," Justin said, speaking the absolute, honest truth as he saw it. He gathered Jake into a hug, rocking gently as he talked. "You've been hurt so badly, even before that thing got her claws into you. You don't have to be strong now, there are plenty of people here to be strong for you. Your mother, your brother, Jack, even Darren in his half-arsed way, they're all here for you."

"And you?" Jake mumbled.

Justin smiled. "I'll be OK. Give it a couple of weeks and you'll barely see a mark. You don't have to worry about me." He felt pretty OK right then, truth be told.

He was surprised when Jake pulled away from him. Jake spent a moment visibly pulling himself together before looking Justin in the eye and asking, "Why are you here?"

Justin couldn't help but feel hurt. Here he was trying to help, and Jake seemed to think he was after something. Not that he could blame Jake for that, since he'd have thought exactly the same thing if their positions were reversed.

"I should go," he said, reaching for his shirt. No sense in outstaying his welcome even more.

Jake looked down, and Justin felt a little pang. Was he doing the right thing, he wondered?

"Stay a while?" Jake asked quietly. "After you stopped me falling apart, the least I owe you is breakfast."

He'd be a fool to turn down free food, Justin thought, knowing he was lying to himself. He should go before he really let Jake down, the way he always let people down, but he wasn't strong enough. "OK," he said, more of a grunt than a real reply.

Jake looked up and smiled, and Justin knew he was doomed. The eyes behind that smile were still so fragile, and Justin would find himself trying to help until he really screwed things up, no matter what his intentions were.

"Could you stick it back down?" he asked, indicating the dressing, opting to distract himself as much as Jake. "I ought to get my shirt back on before your Mum comes in and jumps to all the wrong conclusions."

That, of course, was the moment Frankie opened the door to bring her son a hot, fresh cup of morning tea.

*********

Josh looked up from the heavy book Mr Wells had plonked down in front of him. He didn't understand the blobs and squiggles at all; was there supposed to be some trick to it?

"It's not his kind of gibberish," Ste translated, handing out coffees to everyone who'd managed to pack themselves into Amy's little living room this morning. Which seemed to be pretty much everyone.

"Sorry," Wells said tiredly, "I forgot you can't read Fyarl." The poor guy looked dead on his feet. Not even the smell of coffee was having any effect on him. Josh wondered if he'd been to sleep yet.

"Can I read it?" little Mark asked. He at least seemed to be full of excitement and energy this morning. It was enough to make Josh feel tired, so he supposed he couldn't blame Mr Wells.

"You've got your own books to read," Amy told Mark with a smile. "In fact, isn't it time you practiced your reading and your sums? Why don't you go and get them, and Simon and I will help you. There's plenty of room on the kitchen table."

That was his Amy, Josh thought, always thinking about others. Simon looked surprised and pleased to be included so casually; whatever it was he'd been through, and it couldn't be good given how vague everyone was being about it, Amy was getting him through it. She was brilliant.

Mark pouted stubbornly. "But I want to read that," he said, pointing to Mr Wells's book.

"That's a very special book," Amy explained gently. "It's written in a foreign language, and only Mr Wells can read it because he's very clever and he's spent a long time learning how."

"Xander can read it too," Wells protested sleepily. Harris took an alarmed step away from the book, Josh noticed. "And Willow, and Dawn, and Giles of course," Wells continued, "and practically everyone except Buffy, because she's not much into reading though she is clever, and I should stop talking before she hurts me."

"Andrew?" Harris asked, a mixture of surprise and concern on his face. "Are you OK?"

"M'fine."

"A pretty girl calls him clever and he _doesn't_ spend the next ten minutes preening? That's not fine," Harris muttered.

"I don't want to go," Mark protested again.

"Conrad can tell you what happened when you're finished," Simon suggested. He looked questioningly at the other boy.

Conrad nodded hastily. "Yes," he said in a small voice, looking mildly petrified.

Sulkily Mark allowed himself to be steered out of the living room, still protesting as Simon closed the door behind them. Mr Harris turned back to Mr Wells, shaking him gently to wake him back up, but Ste cut across him before he could say anything.

"Don't worry about remembering everything exactly right," he told Conrad, who gave him a grateful look. "It's not like the rest of us will, and besides the little 'un will probably forget all about the book before he's done in there."

Josh couldn't help smiling at Ste. He wasn't the self-centred brat he pretended to be; once you got on Ste's right side, he'd move heaven and earth to help you. Josh was glad that Ste had decided that Conrad at least could be a friend; the poor guy seemed to be a bundle of nerves.

Mr Harris coughed pointedly. "Andrew, you were telling us about the ritual you found?"

"Two rituals," Mr Wells said, jerking upright. "I wondered about the two of you being able to enact the Calling Down of the Sight when Josh couldn't speak. All the references I could find were certain that druids have to do rituals as a group, and the smaller the groups are, the more carefully matched the powers of the druids have to be."

That kind of implied that Harris and Wells were pretty well matched too, Josh mused. He kept the thought to himself.

"It seems that when two druids are really well matched, able to perfectly mirror each other, then one of them can act as the Voice for the other as well as play his own part in the ritual." Wells looked at them expectantly.

Ste snorted. "What makes you think we're so well matched? You'd never have seen the two of us together before this whole business started."

"And now we don't see you apart," Harris said thoughtfully. "Face it, Ste, you are the only one who can understand Josh. I'd bet even Willow couldn't without some major mojo. Now whether that's because of Josh getting attuned just before what you went through together, or because you were matched before anyway, I don't know. Either way, we can be pretty sure you're matched now."

That was handy to know if he was going to be stuck like this for a while, Josh said via Ste. Harris and Wells exchanged a worried look. Josh looked at them quizzically.

"We're worried about the long-term effects of this stuff," Harris said. "Particularly if you're doing magic, you'll be pulling screwed-up power in and screwing yourself up more. If it's got a long time to work in, it could do serious damage."

"It could kill him?" Ste asked. His hand sought Josh's out, and Josh wasn't about to complain. He needed the comfort right then.

Harris shrugged. "We don't know, but I don't want to take chances if we don't have to."

Ste looked a little shaken, which was pretty much how Josh felt. He didn't want to take chances with his life either.

"Right," Ste said after a moment, "you said two rituals. Does that mean you've found something to disentangle Josh from that tree?"

"Better than that," Wells said proudly. He fumbled in his shoulder bag for a moment, then pulled out several sheets of printout. "One of the researchers at the Headquarters of the Watchers' Council found this in the memoirs of a Mochson demon. Apparently she was having a competition with another demon about who could find the silliest human ritual that actually did anything, though it's not entirely clear why she thought this was—"

"Could we skip the history lesson for now?" Harris asked plaintively.

"Oh. Right." Wells had to think for a moment before he could remember what he'd been going to say. "It's a ritual of renewal and purification, casting off the old and preparing for the new. If we're right, this should have been done every year to keep the Sacred Grove mystically healthy. Performing it now may not undo all the centuries of neglect, but it should markedly improve both the Grove and Josh."

"'Should', 'if we're right'," Ste said severely. "I don't want to play with Josh's life on maybes."

"I don't like it any more than you do," Harris said, "but 'maybe' is the best we're going to get. Nobody alive knows anything about druid magic, which makes Andrew the world expert. Which is not such a comforting thought now I think about it, and I'll shut up now.

"I haven't found anything better in my research material," Wells said sadly, "and I've looked really hard."

Josh could believe it, looking at him. It would have to be enough, he told Ste. They didn't really have a choice.

Ste clearly didn't like the idea, and Josh felt grateful to have someone looking out for him like that. Even Ste couldn't argue with the facts, though, and he acquiesced grumpily. "So what do we have to do?"

Wells pulled himself upright again, looking like a schoolteacher who was just coming on to his favourite subject and intended to tell you about it in excruciating detail.

"Just the basics," Ste added hurriedly.

"The ritual requires four druids, one for each of the cardinal directions," Wells began, deflating slightly. "Each of them enters the Grove with a partner, and ritually invokes the elemental powers to aid them. Um." He paused, looking uncertainly at the others. "If things have been really bad they do a human sacrifice."

That was _so_ not happening if Josh had any say in the matter. He was a tiny bit surprised when Ste glanced at Conrad and agreed with him quite so readily, given how unreasonably determined Ste had been to fix this whole mess, but not even at his worst had Ste been that cold.

"I think we'd better skip that part," Harris said diplomatically. "What next?"

"Empowered by the ritual, each druid and his partner perform a simple fertility rite," Wells said, turning slightly pink.

"You what?" Ste asked, echoing Josh's thoughts.

"Sex," Conrad said unexpectedly. "Fertility rites always mean sex. Sorry," he finished, shrinking back into his chair as the others stared at him.

"Don't be," Xander reassured him. "I think Andrew might have exploded if he'd had to say it himself."

"Give us a bit of warning next time," Ste complained.

Josh hadn't missed the way Ste had jumped slightly when Conrad spoke, and he quietly gave Ste's hand a reassuring squeeze. Sex was going to be a sore subject with both of them for a while, which was going to make this ritual less fun than it might have been. What else, he asked through Ste.

"That's pretty much all," Wells admitted. "The ritual channels energy through the Grove, recharging it to start the cycle of life afresh. It should clean out and straighten up the twisted magic as part of the ritual purification."

He was looking at them rather strangely, Josh thought, as if he was expecting some different reaction from himself and particularly from Ste. He racked his brains to see what it was that he was missing.

"Right," said Ste, grinning broadly now that he'd got over the initial shock of the idea. "So we're sorted then. There's four of us, we just need to find four girls as'll be willing, three actually since I'll be asking Amy of course, and we're well away. How long have we got to set all this up?"

"What do you mean, there's four of us?" Harris demanded.

Mr Wells ignored him for once. "It's a solstice ritual, it has to be performed on the longest night," he said.

"That's tonight," Conrad added helpfully.

Wells nodded. "But—"

"We'll have to work fast," Ste said over the top of him. "Hey Josh, who do you fancy asking out? Do you think we could talk Mercedes McQueen into going for Mr Harris here?"

There was something else, Josh observed. Mr Wells was looking really unhappy, and the way Mr Harris was spluttering didn't bode well either.

Ste's shoulders slumped. "Alright," he asked Wells with a sigh, "what's wrong with this plan then?"

"Josh can't say his part," Mr Wells told him.

"Yeah, but you said I could do his bit as well as mine."

"The renewal ritual needs four separate adepts whose workings combine into one. You can't do two of those parts at the same time without mixing them together, and that would be bad."

Harris frowned. "Define bad."

"Imagine every molecule in your body exploding at the speed of light," Wells said.

"Now define 'bad' without quoting _Ghostbusters_."

Wells coloured slightly, but soldiered on. "It might kill you, if you were lucky. It might make the magic more twisted instead of less. It might, um, well the only thing I'm sure of is that it won't work properly."

"But you said we could do it," Ste pleaded.

"Only when you're acting as a matched pair. Didn't I say that bit?" Wells asked into the general puzzlement. "You and Josh would have to be performing the ritual together. The only way you can act as Josh's Voice this time would be if you were Josh's chosen partner."

There was a shocked silence. No, Josh said shakily, that wasn't going to happen. There was no way he was going to put Ste in that position. They could afford to wait a while, give the researchers time to—

"So where are we going to find another druid from?" Ste asked calmly. "We've only got, what, twelve hours?"

What? No! Ste couldn't do that!

"Yes I can," Ste said, turning to Josh. It was startling to see him look so serenely certain about anything. "Josh, this might be our only chance. If they don't turn up anything else quickly, we don't know that you'll last the year, and our chances won't be any better."

But it wasn't right. Josh knew he was being incoherent even to Ste, but this was too much like what Nige had tried to make them do. Josh couldn't bring himself to rape Ste, he couldn't.

"I know," Ste said, taking hold of Josh by the shoulders and looking him straight in the eye. "That's why I'm offering instead. Not doing this, it could kill you. It will hurt you, and I will not let that happen."

He was completely serious. That was what stopped Josh saying any more; Ste meant every single word that he'd said. He really was willing to give up himself for Josh. Josh knew that he could carry on for some time against the power twisting him up, but there was always the risk that he was wrong, and he would hurt Ste badly right now just by not trusting him.

A choked gasp from nearby broke the moment, leaving Josh faintly embarrassed to realise he'd been staring deeply into Ste's eyes for so long. He turned to see Amy standing in the doorway, looking at them with hurt and confusion on her face.

"You won't hurt him, but you don't care if you hurt me," she accused Ste.

Ste flinched. "Amy, I—" All the calmness and certainty was gone from Ste now. Part of Josh was obscurely pleased that Ste didn't let go of him or draw away, but mostly he was too busy feeling guilty; neither of them had thought for a moment of what this would mean to Amy.

It didn't mean Ste didn't still love her, he murmured encouragingly. Strangely that didn't seem to help pull Ste together much.

"I love you, Ames," Ste said, sounding very lost, "but he needs me."

"I need you," Amy cried.

Josh felt Ste flinch beside him. Amy must have seen it too, because she looked so wounded for a moment. Before he could say anything, before anyone could, she whirled and fled out of the flat.

"I'll go after her," Harris said, hurriedly suiting actions to words. Conrad stood too, hesitated for a moment and then headed out after him.

"She'll appreciate him going after her," Ste said, staring nervously after Conrad. "It means a lot, him going outside."

That was the first time the guy had gone out since he'd been here, wasn't it, Josh asked after a pause.

They looked at each other. "Crap," Ste said succinctly. They stood together, intending to run after Conrad and the rest of them, but surprisingly Wells stopped them.

"He needs to do this," Wells said with a tired smile. "I think perhaps you're right too, Amy needs him to do it."

"But he's..." Damaged; Josh knew that was what Ste had been going to say. The trouble was, so were they. Ste had to know how much facing up to what he was scared of meant after what he'd just done. In comparison to the pair of them, Josh had it easy. All he had to face was the dim possibility that some time in the distant future this could kill him.

Conrad didn't have to face it alone, though. Ste didn't hesitate to throw that at Wells when Josh pointed it out.

"He's not alone," Wells simply said. "Neither are you two."

Josh didn't have an answer for that. He looked helplessly at Ste, who seemed just as frustrated. In the quiet, they could hear Mark reading out loud in the kitchen, and Leah start to grizzle to herself as she awoke. It obviously tore at Ste, who looked helplessly between the bedroom and the front door. That above all else made Josh's mind up.

Go look after your daughter, he told his friend. Ste was needed here more than there.

While Ste went to Leah, Josh picked up the printout and looked questioningly at Wells. If they were going to be stuck here for a while, he might as well do something useful.

"Go ahead," Wells said, settling back into his chair with a poorly suppressed yawn. "There are some alternative translations in places because the Mochson language works pretty weirdly sometimes, but it's mostly obvious."

It was definitely weird, that was for sure. Josh found himself playing out in his head what was written down on the paper, seeing what would happen with a clarity he only normally had when a song was coming to him. He knew just where everyone would have to stand in the Grove, who had to speak when, and how the flow of power really would flush the knotted blackness out of the tree. He was engrossed in watching with his mind's eye how the different alternatives would or wouldn't work when Ste sat down next to him.

"She's gone back to sleep," Ste explained quietly.

Josh nodded absently. He was trying to figure out how having Ste do the talking for him changed the ritual, and it wasn't as simple as he'd thought.

"She's not my daughter," Ste said out of the blue.

Every thought of ritual fled Josh's mind. He could hear the fear in Ste's voice, and that took priority over everything. After all that Ste had done for him, was promising to do for him, Josh owed Ste that much at the very least.

"It was just something we said to get Mike off our backs. When he found me at his place with Amy, he got in a right old temper. He didn't just throw me out, he started to push me down the steps as well until we told him I was Leah's dad."

Josh nodded in understanding. He had good cause to know just how scary Mike Barnes was when he was angry.

"She doesn't need me either," Ste said sadly.

But she still loved Ste, Josh protested. Even though Leah wasn't Ste's flesh and blood, he was still her dad. He held her when she cried, he fed her and changed her nappy and played with her and did everything he could to provide for her and keep her from harm. He'd done a pretty bloody amazing job too.

"It's not enough," Ste told him. He wasn't talking about Leah now, Josh realised. "I can't protect her from the things she has to fight, I can't understand the half of it, I'm scared of the people who need her help, and I can't even pay the bills. She'd be better off if I let the Watchers pay for everything and stuck to babysitting. It's all I'm good for."

Ste was good for a lot more than that, Josh told him stoutly. People had the wrong idea about him; heck, Josh had had the wrong idea about him. All he'd seen had been the bad boy who had got himself locked up, who took every advantage going and a few that weren't, who only cared about himself. It was only in the last couple of days that he'd seen the Ste who would protect a friend against all-comers, who would put himself through hell for someone who he had every right to ignore. He had more than earned Amy's love.

"Oh aye," Ste said. "She loves me. It's just... she scares me."

Josh knew. She scared him too. He thought he knew where Ste was coming from, though he didn't say so. Ste needed to be needed; no, he needed to matter. He deserved to matter in Josh's opinion, not that Josh's opinion had counted for anything with Amy for some while now.

"Anyway, what's the verdict on this, Einstein?" Ste asked, indicating the description of the ritual.

Josh sighed. There was a problem.

"I thought it was going too easy," Ste said. Josh stared at him. "Joking," he added hurriedly.

Josh couldn't figure out what to make of Ste's mood, so he just rolled his eyes and carried on. The problem, he explained, was that with the two of them doing one side of the ritual, it was going to be very lop-sided. Two druids made for a lot more power than one, and he wasn't sure it was possible for them to pull back enough to make a difference without wrecking everything.

Ste's eyes unfocused for a moment as he thought about this. "You mean kind of like putting a fat bloke and a little kid on a see-saw?" he asked. "So we need to have another pair of druids on the opposite side?"

Josh nodded, pleased that Ste had got hold of the basics so quickly. Unfortunately that wasn't the whole problem, he explained. It was more like an inflatable mattress than a see-saw; if two of the sides were so heavy, they might end up throwing the other two sides off the ritual entirely. Everybody involved was going to have to be a druid, one way or another.

Ste whistled quietly. "Finding them in one day is going to be a tall order."

Tall order? As far as anyone knew, Josh and Ste were the only two druids in existence. Where were they going to find six more from at all, never mind so soon?

"Four more," Ste contradicted. He looked significantly over at Mr Wells, who was dozing quietly in his chair. "Him and Mr Harris did magic yesterday just like we did. He'd probably get a real kick out of it."

It wasn't quite that straightforward, but basically Josh had to admit that Ste was right. Harris and Wells had worked as a balanced pair, and given how much of a drama queen Mr Wells was he'd be in heaven doing an actual druidic ritual.

"I meant him being gayer than John Paul, but whatever."

Yes, there was that too. Still, that left two more pairs to find.

Ste looked down. "You know who one of them is as well as I do," he said reluctantly.

Josh couldn't think what Ste was talking about for a moment, then he went cold. No, he told Ste, they couldn't. They just couldn't.

"They're the same colours and everything, Jake and Justin," Ste insisted. "They did everything short of magic, and that's only because we didn't show them how. And..." He swallowed. "And it was starting to eat Jake up the way they say it's killing you. You know that. That's why you pulled that stupid stunt letting it all get to you."

He'd done it to get Jake to safety, Josh insisted. Now Ste was trying to drag him back in? Josh still wasn't any too clear on just what had happened to Jake, but Ste had implied that it was worse than what had happened to them. Josh was unhappy enough at putting Ste through this, how could he possibly ask it of Jake?

"I am not letting you die," Ste said determinedly. "Beyond that, I don't give a monkey's. I'd ask anything of anyone if I thought it would help, and you know they can. If Justin wants to beat me to a pulp afterwards, he's welcome."

If Justin wanted to lay a finger on Ste any time, he'd have to go through Josh first. There were prices that were too high, and Ste getting hurt was one of them.

Ste smiled at him, and for all his worry Josh couldn't help smiling back. Weird as it was, it felt good to have Ste watching out for him. Comfortable, almost, like when he was young and had known that his parents would always be there for him.

Come on, he told his partner in magic, they should see if they could get the details of this ritual nailed down before everyone came back and interrupted them.

*****

Conrad got halfway down the street before the sunlight got to him.

He was outside in the sunlight and the fresh air for the first time since... since forever, and the enormity of it stopped him dead. Seeing the sun through Amy's windows had been strange enough after spending months with his world shrunk down to _her_ basement. Breathing the night air, cold and fresh and not passed through endless sets of lungs before it reached him, that had been just one more shock in a night of world-changing shocks. Here and now, the feeble light and chill breeze of the shortest day of the year held just one message for him: freedom.

He was free, more absolutely free than he had ever been. His old life's rights and duties had been wiped out by months of tortured submission, and there was nobody left to enforce _her_ claims on him either. He could do whatever he liked now. He could turn in any direction and just walk, and no one would stop him or ask anything of him.

The old him would have done exactly that. The new him owed Amy far too much for that ever to be an option.

He started running again, tears of happiness streaming down his face. He didn't have a hope of keeping up with Amy, and was struggling even to keep her Watcher in sight, but he was determined that he wouldn't let her down. He'd done that too often to too many people.

He had no idea where he was or where he was going, either now or in his life in general. If he'd had the breath he'd have laughed at the irony as he ran. He didn't even know the name of the town he was running through; not knowing had been half of the point before, and he simply hadn't thought to ask since. He was reasonably sure he was nowhere near home — that had been the other half of the point, after all — but he'd never paid any attention to the nearby towns so he couldn't be certain. His father would never venture anywhere so _declassé_ anyway, but the merest possibility of bumping into him made Conrad giggle.

It was possible that he was getting hysterical.

He ran on, vaguely aware of passing the odd person as he went. They were probably staring at him, but he didn't care, and that too was a freedom that he'd not dreamed of before. He didn't have time to wonder at it now, not when Amy needed his support, but some time later he'd have to wonder at becoming everything he'd aways sneered at.

He lost sight of Mr Harris when he ducked into a park, which caused him a moment of panic. No one who knew him was in sight; if something happened to him now, there would be no help. He should be used to that, but it was still a chilling thought. Before, duty had been his only comfort; this time, duty to Amy was so much more than that, and while he stumbled, he did not stop again.

Amy hadn't gone far into the park, it turned out. It still took Conrad a while to find her sitting sadly on a swing, her Watcher standing quietly by with a comforting hand on her shoulder. She stood when she heard him approaching, looking horrified. "Oh God, Conrad, I didn't think... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Conrad stepped up and hugged her like he hadn't hugged anyone since he was five. "Don't be sorry," he said, "please. All of this... I... please?" He was crying and incoherent, but he didn't care.

"I shouldn't have run away," Amy said, gently patting his back. "You shouldn't have had to follow me."

"Couldn't," he said, and it felt like a dam bursting inside him, with all the words that had been pent up inside for months coming flooding out. "I couldn't leave you, not when you gave me the strength to follow." He let go of her and waved vaguely at the park. "All of this, you gave all of it back to me, Amy. The whole world. Without your help I'd be less than nothing. If every single thing I did from now on was just helping you, I still couldn't ever pay you back."

Amy blushed and looked down. "Saving lives is what a Slayer is supposed to do," she said, looking to her Watcher for help. Mr Harris gave her a wry smile and looked to Conrad.

"You rescued me," Conrad agreed, "but then you believed in me, and Mark and Simon too. That's not what a Slayer does, that's what _you_ do." She was perhaps the only person to believe in him, after even his mother had despaired. She was certainly the only person whose belief mattered to him, but even caught up in the moment as he was Conrad recognised that saying that would cross a line. He took a breath and tried to rein himself in.

"You've believed in me," he said more calmly, "and that's given me the strength to believe in me too."

"It's the same with Ste," Mr Harris said quietly. "You've believed in him, and given him the strength to become what you knew he could be. Would the Ste you first met have cared enough to save Josh?"

"I didn't think the Ste of last week would have," Amy said, withdrawing into herself again. Conrad reached out and took her hand.

"The Ste of last week was already putting you first," Mr Harris observed. "You gave him a reason not to be selfish long before any of the Slayer package came along."

"You give us hope," Conrad explained. "You show us something better to be, and give us a reason to want to be it."

"You make me sound like some sort of saint," Amy protested.

Conrad couldn't help laughing. "You're far too real for that," he said. He'd met people who were supposed to be perfect, and he'd only believed in one of them. Even that one had turned out to be a lie, such an immense lie that he had fallen apart trying to make it true. No, he was never going to fall for perfection again.

"You see," Mr Harris said with a small, sad smile, "it is OK. You aren't alone here."

"I know, but..." Amy closed her eyes and shuddered. Conrad squeezed her hand reassuringly. She looked back up, and it hurt Conrad to see the tears in her eyes. "I really have lost him, haven't I?" she asked. "Ste, Josh, I've driven them both away."

Conrad hugged her. He didn't have the words for this sort of thing; he never had, and he was only now realising what a loss that was.

Fortunately Mr Harris did have the words. "You've lost the boys," he agreed gently, "but what I saw back there was two men facing up to something that scares both of them stupid. That's something to be proud of."

"He still loves you," Conrad told her. He hesitated; the conversation he'd had with Ste hadn't technically been confidential, but Conrad knew that Ste wouldn't want his words bandied about. On the other hand, Amy really needed to know this. "He just thinks he's always needed you more than you needed him, and there isn't anything he can do for you now."

"I don't need him to _do_ anything," Amy sniffed.

"But Josh does," Mr Harris pointed out. "You know how Ste thinks better than either of us. Do you really think he could be happy just cheering you on from the sidelines?"

"You were," Amy tried gamely.

"I never had any delusions of adequacy," Mr Harris replied. "I spent my entire school career being the comic relief, so being the comic relief for Buffy was no great change. Ste aimed higher than that, and having it all ripped out from under him has been so much worse."

Conrad had to close his eyes so Mr Harris wouldn't see the shame there. He hadn't so much aimed as known for a fact that he deserved a high position, and he had been so wrong. He didn't even have Ste's excuse of not knowing what was out there, he'd just been wilfully blind. He held on to Amy as much to keep himself together as to comfort her.

"What's wrong with me?" Amy asked eventually. "How did I manage to turn both my exes gay?"

"There's nothing wrong with you," Conrad said, quietly confident that he was telling her nothing but the truth. "Don't you ever think there's something wrong with you, please."

"It's OK to hurt," Mr Harris said, putting his hand awkwardly on Amy's shoulder as she started crying in earnest. "I wish I could tell you it gets easier."

They stood there for a long time, letting her cry it out. Conrad wished he could take this pain away from her, but he didn't know how. Amy didn't deserve to hurt like this, and he resolved there and then to do everything he could to bring a smile back to her face.

Eventually she pulled away from him. "I must look like I'm in a right state," she sniffed, wiping away the tears and straightening herself out as best she could.

"You look beautiful," Conrad said before he could stop himself.

Mr Harris looked askance at him as Amy blushed, but didn't comment. "We'd better get back," he said instead. "I feel kind of guilty leaving Andrew in charge; he means well, but sometimes he doesn't know when to stop. Did you know he once cooked a Klingon meal for the Slayers because "Warriors should be fed warriors' food.""

"What? Was it even edible?" Amy asked.

"Edible, yes. Pleasant... let's just say the prune juice was probably the best of it."

Conrad laughed with them as they turned for home. One day he'd understand what on earth they were talking about; until then, it was enough that Amy's spirits were lifted.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh is determined, Ste is persuasive, and Amy play Cupid.

Justin wasn't quite sure how he'd managed to get stuck at the Dean's all morning. Frankie had predictably not been pleased to discover him in Jake's bedroom for the second day running, and she hadn't really bought the explanation that he was just there to help Jake. He couldn't blame her; if their positions had been reversed, he wouldn't have believed it either. Hell, even now he had trouble believing it sometimes.

But with Frankie set against him, Jake had gone into one of those mulishly stubborn moods that Justin was beginning to find really frustrating. When Frankie suggested that Justin go and find somewhere less annoying to be, Jake insisted that he stayed. When she pointedly made only one cooked breakfast, Jake gave it to Justin and nothing Justin could do would make him take it back. Every single thing that his mother did, Jake seemed to feel it his bounden duty to interfere with.

He didn't even get an opportunity to apologise to her. Frankie wouldn't have listened to him anyway, but with Jake hovering about not letting him have a quiet word with her on his own, he had no chance. By lunchtime, damaged or no he was ready to scream at Jake. Only the thought that Jake seemed to need to be able to take care of him stopped him from exploding.

Then to cap it all, Ste Hay came round with Josh Ashworth trailing after him, and calmly announced to Frankie that he needed a word with the pair of them. Frankie did not take that well at all. Ste was trouble in her book (and in Justin's as well, despite what Xander might say), and the fact that he was expecting to find Justin here was proof positive to her mind that something was up. Ste and Jake hadn't helped by talking in elliptical half-sentences about what had happened yesterday, while Josh just looked apologetic since he couldn't talk sensibly. Justin had tried to calm things down, but predictably that hadn't worked, and Frankie had put her foot down and thrown all three of the interlopers out.

She hadn't been expecting Jake to go with them.

They hadn't gone far, just dragging a table and some chairs into a quiet corner of the car park. Ste had insisted they went out there and explained that he and Josh were going to teach Jake and Justin how to see magic. Justin almost balked at that; he didn't want to believe in magic, and if he did it was responsible for what had happened to Jake, so he really didn't want to be doing any. Jake didn't seem much keener. Ste had been absolutely serious, though, adamant about them not just seeing this but doing it too. Justin couldn't help but remember what Xander had said, that Ste and Josh were doing all this stuff for a reason, and that was what he blamed for his reluctant agreement.

Watching them do their trick was anticlimactic. Josh set light to some stuff that made a bit of a stink, Ste mumbled something half under his breath, and nothing obvious happened. Josh didn't even start throwing up this time, though he did look a little pale. "So that's it?" Justin asked skeptically.

Ste and Josh nodded. The way they were staring him and Jake made Justin very uneasy, not to mention dead suspicious about what it was they were burning.

"What's in the dish?" Jake asked, motioning towards the smouldering mixture. He was obviously no more eager to get close to it than Justin was.

"Mostly lavender," Ste said. "I don't know about the rest, but it's all supposed to be legal." Josh gabbled something unintelligible to him. "Thyme, dried hazel leaves and incense, apparently. Who's been looking in Mr Wells's books, then?"

It was disconcerting to see Ste teasing Josh without malice. It was even more disconcerting to see how Josh blushed before they grinned at each other.

"Anyway," Ste said as the two of them stood up, "it's not so scary, is it? You sit yourselves down and see if you can do it too."

Justin sat with great trepidation. "Can't we do it without that stuff?" he asked.

"Don't think so," Ste said breezily. "It does something, that's for sure. Maybe if we were really good at this business we could do it without, but let's not take the chance for now."

"So apart from sitting here in the smoke, what are we supposed to do?" Jake asked. He sounded subdued rather than sarcastic, sending Justin into another round of worrying.

Ste looked at Josh, who said something that seemed to reassure Ste and moved to stand beside Jake.

"Just take a minute to slow down," Ste said gently, sounding far different from his normal brash self. "You have to trust your instincts with this stuff. If it feels like you're in the wrong place, you probably are; just shift your chair a bit until it feels right."

Justin felt like he shouldn't be within miles of this, or let Jake be either, but he played along. He closed his eyes and tried to relax at least a bit. He didn't think he was very successful; maybe he could feel something, or maybe he was just kidding himself.

He heard Jake's chair scrape slightly against the stone. "OK," Jake said, "now what?"

"Think about what you want to happen. Think about seeing..." There was a pause, a brief word from Josh, then Ste continued, "Seeing auras, seeing what's going on. If something springs to mind, say it. Don't worry about what. We'll stop you if anything starts to go wrong, you just say what you want."

"To see the truth," Jake murmured.

Justin started. Those words had been on the tip of his tongue too.

"Trust your instincts," Ste whispered to him.

Justin didn't want to trust anything but words came to him, lines from a poem that Becca had taught his class:

"The truth that lies unheard, unseen,  
Our hearts reveal, nor can deny..."

...and Jake was saying it with him, syllable for syllable, and this was too weird, he needed to stop but he could feel Jake falling and nothing was more important than catching him and _something changed..._

Justin opened his eyes to a world of green.

It was like seeing ocean waves in slow motion, except he was standing in them and he could feel the push of them against his body. He had Jake's hands clasped firmly in his, though he didn't remember grabbing for him, and both he and Jake were obscured by a fuzzy greenish shadow that he could barely see through. That must be the aura Ste had been talking about, though what it was supposed to mean Justin had no clue. Everything else was a bottle green, with something like smoke showing him which way it was flowing.

"Yes!"

A quiet word of triumph, but it was enough to break Justin out of the shock he was feeling. He turned to face Ste and Josh, and started in surprise.

There was nothing fuzzy about the two of them. He could see Josh and Ste plain as day, and at the same time he could see them filled with a sharp, clear green light mixed with thick, warm ribbons of red. What stopped Justin cold was the ugly black twisted shape coiling through Josh from his groin to his head. Every instinct Justin had screamed that this was wrong, dangerous, and the way it seemed to be soaking up the smoke that passed into Josh couldn't be good either. He moved quickly in front of Jake, not wanting to take any chance that that _thing_ might get to him.

"What?" Jake asked unsteadily.

"You're seeing what's wrong with Josh," Ste said calmly. "That's why I wanted you to do this whole magic thing; you have to see that to know what's at stake." He grasped Josh's hand, and Justin stepped back in alarm. In some weird way the red lines in the two of them matched up, but Justin could see the black spread too, leaching almost too slowly to notice into Ste.

"Let go of him," he shouted. "It's getting into you too!"

Josh, to his credit, looked alarmed and tried to pull away. Ste was having none of it. "I said I wasn't giving up on you and I meant it," he told Josh stubbornly, sounding exasperatingly like Jake. "I'm not going to change my mind just 'cos it's given Justin a shock."

"But it's..." Jake apparently couldn't find words for it any better than Justin could.

"Wrong?" Ste suggested, one hell of an understatement in Justin's book. "Yeah, it is. That tree of yours is wrong in just the same way. It's killing the both of them. There's a chance we can fix it, though."

Justin listened as Ste spun them a story about Xander calling in favours and coming up with this cock-eyed ritual that he seemed to expect them to believe in. Justin would have laughed in his face, except that he couldn't deny what he was seeing.

Ste had been right; Justin wouldn't have believed him if this wasn't right here in front of his eyes.

That didn't make a blind bit of difference when Justin figured out what this big fix of Ste's entailed. Ste couldn't know — Ste bloody well better not know — but asking Jake to even think about sex any time in the next century was a bad idea, never mind tonight. Justin wasn't exactly keen on it himself, but if Josh's life really was in the balance he could get over himself.

"If you're really stuck, I'll do it," he said unhappily, "but Jake shouldn't."

"I won't break," Jake snapped, but Justin could hear the edge to his voice and knew he was right.

"You don't have to prove anything," he said gently, looking Jake straight in the eyes. "Not 'til you're ready." And Jake's nightmares said he wasn't ready, and they both knew it.

Jake held his gaze for a long moment, but looked down first. Justin felt a twinge of guilt, and knew that if Jake tried to talk him out of helping them himself, he would give in.

"Sorry, but it's both of you or neither," Ste said.

Justin would have told him it was neither, then, but Jake got in first. "Why?" he asked. "Why us, for that matter? There's got to be other people doing this stuff, can't your Mr Harris get them in?"

"If only," Ste said, looking annoyed. "No one's done it like this for centuries, apparently. We guessed you two might be able to when we saw you yesterday. Seeing your auras, the two of you looked sort of, well, balanced."

"What do you mean, balanced?" Justin asked suspiciously.

"Connected?" Ste tried helplessly. Josh gabbled at him. "Like you can second guess each other so well you don't even need to think about it."

"Come on," Justin said scornfully, "Jake and I couldn't be in the same room as each other without starting a fight up until the last couple of days."

"Yeah, falling for the same girl and all that. That's not like each other at all. I can't imagine anyone else doing that," Ste fired back. He gave Josh an apologetic look.

"And this connection, that's what you need to do magic?" Jake asked. Justin refused to believe he was considering this whole thing as seriously as he sounded.

"Sort of," Ste said. He sighed. "It's what lets me stand in for Josh and say his part while he gets on with the rest of it. Clever clogs here," he nodded at Josh, "worked out that means the other pairs have to be better as well, otherwise we stuff the whole thing up."

"Better connected?" Jake asked, but something struck Justin and he broke in before Ste could respond.

"Wait a sec," he said, "the _other_ pairs? Are you two supposed to be..." He trailed off, not quite willing to say what he thought out loud. "Doing it?" he finished weakly.

Ste nodded.

Justin turned to Jake. "You're not doing this," he said firmly.

"We have to," Jake replied, but he didn't look nearly as sure as he tried to sound.

Justin shook his head. "It's too soon," he said. "I promised that I'd take care of you, and I won't let you hurt yourself over this. It's too soon for you to watch something like that." Jake was fraying around the edges just thinking about it, Justin could tell; hell, it was making Justin feel sick too.

"This could kill him, Justin. Do you want that on your conscience? If the price I have to pay is watching them, then I'll just have to be strong enough. If I didn't and he died..."

But this could kill you inside, Justin thought. He'd take the chance a thousand times over, and he wouldn't care if Josh did die as long as Jake was safe. Josh said something to Ste, but Justin ignored them, focused solely on Jake. "Please," he whispered, "please don't push yourself." He tried to put into his eyes what he could put into words; how important Jake was, how much his recovery meant, how much it would hurt to see him put himself through hell again.

Josh spoke more sharply, and Jake snapped his gaze away, breaking the moment. "What?" he asked.

Justin turned back to see Ste staring rebelliously at the ground while Josh glared at him. The third time Josh spoke there was no mistaking the command in his voice.

"It's not just watching," Ste ground out, not looking up.

Behind him, Justin felt Jake go very still. "What do you mean?" he demanded. The pair of them were beginning to scare him.

Josh's expression softened. He said one word to Ste and reached out to touch him.

Ste looked up at Josh, and Justin almost flinched from the fear and loneliness Ste didn't even try to keep off his face. "If I lose you because of this," Ste told Josh, "I'll never forgive you." Josh smiled back at him.

It took Justin a few moments to find his voice again. "Because of what?" he asked. "What aren't you telling us?"

To his surprise, Jake spoke. "You said because you and Josh have to be together, everyone else has to be better connected too. You want us together, don't you? Me and Justin?"

Eyes still on Josh, Ste nodded slowly.

Justin exploded. "No!" he shouted. "You can't ask him to do that. After everything that's happened... if you had any idea what you were asking... No."

Ste did turn to him then, and if Justin had been less furious he'd have taken a step back at the determination in his gaze. "A few nights ago, Josh was nearly forced to rape me. Don't tell me I don't know what I'm asking."

"There was no 'nearly' in it for Jake," Justin raged. "I won't let him be hurt like that again."

"And I won't let Josh die," Ste fired back.

"Justin," Jake said unhappily, putting a restraining hand on his shoulder.

Justin turned to him. "I won't let them hurt you," he said, voice thick with emotion. "I promised."

"We can't let him die," Jake said. "You can't let him die. I know how torn up you were about Becca, I won't let you hurt yourself like that again. Not for me."

"Always for you," Justin insisted.

Jake winced and looked down. "Please..." he began quietly, then straightened up. "It's affecting me, isn't it?" he asked Ste. "All that time I spent hiding away in the park, in the clearing most people can't even find... it's got to be affecting me."

"Yeah," Ste agreed, subdued, and Justin felt the bottom drop out of his world. Josh said something quietly, and Ste nodded. "Some, at any rate," he added. "It might never get as bad as what Josh has, or it might clobber you next week, we don't know. All we can tell is that there's a blob of it in you."

"See," Jake said pleadingly to Justin, "we have to. If we don't help him, who'll be there for us? Please, J, let me do this."

Justin was so overwhelmed he couldn't say anything. He couldn't, he wouldn't put Jake through such a harrowing experience again. But Jake was right, too; if all of this black stuff was affecting him as well, then they'd need all the help they could get. For a wild moment he thought that running away might be an answer, but Ste would have already gone if it was. Justin didn't think that Jake would let himself be dragged out of town anyway, no matter how much Justin wanted him safely far away from here.

He would cheerfully damn Josh to save Jake if he thought it would work, but Justin was coming to realise that Jake would never forgive himself if he didn't do everything he could — if they didn't do everything they could. But if they did, if they made Justin _do that_ , he could break Jake so badly that he might never recover.

Yes or no. Deny Jake or hurt him. Either way he could lose Jake forever, and Justin didn't know when that had become unacceptable but it was. In the end, he didn't have a choice.

No, he had one choice.

"Alright," he said, and his voice caught as Jake beamed at him. "We'll do it," he said when he could, struggling for the words, "but only if you... do me."

Jake's eyes widened. "No," he said, "you mustn't, you're more... I'm already damaged like that. I've been damaged like that for a long time. And I trust you."

"I don't," Justin told him with utter sincerity. "When _she_ made me watch, I felt..." He'd got hard watching Jake being raped. It had horrified him, but it had happened, and he'd known exactly what he'd wanted. Jake should never trust him like that, because Justin knew full well that he'd take every advantage he could.

"It wasn't you." Jake reached out with one hand and cupped Justin's face, leaving Justin no place to shy away from the trust that was being given to him. "You remember what Xander said, that _she_ could play you just like she played me. You're stronger than her mind-games, stronger than me. You're more important than me."

There was something else Jake didn't put into words, something Justin didn't understand, but he knew he had to hold firm on this. "Please," he said, reaching out to Jake in his turn. "Let me do this. Let me protect you as much as I can."

He put his whole soul into his gaze, trying to show Jake just how much this meant to him. Just how much Jake meant. It was the most intense he'd ever been, caught up in not just his own emotions but Jake's too, connected, accepted, forgiven, so very, very, close...

"What the hell are you doing!"

********

Ste was pretty much ready to kill someone.

He'd been on edge since Wells had offered them that sliver of hope, and he wasn't going to pretend he didn't know why. He'd been on his best behaviour when they went round to Jake, but that hadn't been good enough for Josh, oh no. Josh wouldn't let Ste slide over the details until after Jake and Justin had agreed to help like any sensible scammer would. Never mind that Justin didn't give a damn and Jake was a basket case, and it was taking a major effort of will for Ste to keep himself from smashing Justin's face in. No, for Josh it had to be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, all up front and in small enough words that Justin would understand.

Then, when he'd finally wheedled the two of them into actually being reasonable, along came Craig Dean and started yelling his head off at all and sundry. How Ste managed not to turn round and yell straight back, he would never know.

"It's like we're cursed or something," he muttered, as Craig laid into Justin verbally for taking advantage of Jake.

That was entirely possible, Josh mused, seeming far less worried about this situation than he ought to be. Mr Harris had mentioned something about how everyone took things the wrong way around here, maybe this was all the magic's doing after all. One last ditch attempt to stop them from fixing everything.

"Yeah, sure." Ste was prepared to believe a lot of things after what he'd seen, but trees thinking for themselves? Not a chance.

"He's not taking advantage of me," Jake said urgently, putting himself between Craig and Justin to Craig's annoyance. "If anything, I'm taking advantage of him."

"You aren't," Justin said quickly, "I owe you." Like that was going to help, Ste thought.

"Of course you owe him," Craig said viciously around his brother, "you owe everyone! You made my life a misery, you got Becca killed... Why you aren't the one in jail I'll never know!" Apparently the fact that you could have mistaken Craig and Justin for best friends a couple of days ago didn't count any more.

If it was meant to stop them it was backfiring spectacularly, according to Josh. Ste gave him a look, one that bounced off since Josh was far too interested in the show to pay him any attention. Ste began to worry a bit. He didn't think Josh had got drunk or stoned or anything in the last hour or so, but he was acting really weirdly now. Maybe the effects of all the crud was getting through to him faster than they'd hoped.

Not for the first time, Ste wished he could see Josh's aura as well as he could see other people's.

"I need him," Jake was pleading with Craig. "He's the only one who can hold me together. I can't even sleep if he isn't in the room with me. And..." Jake paused, swallowed, and looked away. "I think I love him," he said in a very small voice.

Josh smiled. Justin looked gobsmacked, though if the sappy grin fighting its way onto his face was any guide he was pleased enough. And Craig looked like Jake had just belted him one.

"After everything that's happened to you?" Craig said disbelievingly. "After everything he's done? I broke up with John Paul again because I know how much seeing us repulsed you, and you say something like that? What has he done to you?"

"You what?" Justin exploded as Jake took a shamed step away from Craig. "You idiot! Do you have to work at hurting your brother or does it come naturally? Don't you dare blame him for having yet another break up, it's nothing to do with him."

Maybe it was genetic, Josh mused.

"Maybe what's genetic?" Ste asked, exasperated.

That got everyone's attention. From the glares he was getting all round, Ste wished he'd kept his mouth shut.

Just look at them, Josh told him calmly.

Ste looked. He saw Jake, bright green with ribbons of red and that black knot reaching down from his head. He saw Justin, flaring with matching green and red and with the faintest threads of black boring through him. And he saw Craig.

"Fuck me sideways," he said, eyes wide.

Later, Josh promised mischievously.

"What?" Jake asked in alarm.

"He's just like you," Ste said, "only brighter."

Jake looked his brother over carefully. He was probably searching for signs of the same sick black that was making Josh's life a misery. Ste couldn't see any, just the bright green that he was learning to associate with magic, and the thick red ribbons that seemed to bind people together. Craig's were dark red, tattered and drawn out as if they were trying to reach something too far away, but Ste reckoned that was probably something to do with him and John Paul breaking up. "He's fine," he said, "no black or nothing."

"What are you talking about?" Craig asked nervously, looking somewhat disconcerted at the attention he was getting from Jake. "What's going on here?"

"It's kind of hard to explain," Ste said, thinking fast. Craig's aura was too similar to how Jake, Justin, Mr Harris and Mr Wells looked, and too different from anyone else, to be a coincidence. He could do magic, Ste would bet anything — was betting everything — on that, and if John Paul wasn't his other half there was something fundamentally screwed up about the world. Now all Ste had to do was talk him into helping.

That's what Josh had meant about this backfiring if it was supposed to be a curse. Ste grinned. "How much do you know about—?"

Josh put his hand on Ste's arm, stopping him. There was black, he told Ste, loudly enough for Craig to hear the gibberish.

"Look at the red lines," Jake said shakily into the momentary silence.

They weren't just red, Ste realised as he looked harder. He'd just thought it was a dark shade, but the red was shot through with lines of black, dulling the vibrant colour underneath. That would explain why Craig's relationships were such train wrecks.

"What do you mean? What red lines?" Craig demanded. "What did Josh _say?_ "

Justin ignored him in favour of reassuring Jake. "It's not even close to what's wrong with Josh," he said.

"What's wrong with Josh?" Craig was beginning to sound panicked and angry.

Jake pulled himself together. "We'll explain," he said briskly, "or rather he will." He pointed off-handedly to Ste. "First, though, you're going to phone up your boyfriend and grovel like it was going out of fashion. You don't get to be an idiot over this. I know how much you love him, and I won't have you throwing that away."

"When you're done grovelling, get him to come over," Ste chipped in. "The explanation's for both of you, and you're not going to believe the half of it if you're not together."

The smile he got off Josh made all the hassle Ste knew was coming worth it.

******

"Are you sure you won't stay for lunch?" Amy asked.

Xander shook his head. "Nah, we already sponge off you too much," he said cheerily, in blatant contradiction of the facts. It always amazed him how much better that made people feel. He looked over at where Andrew was still dozing in the armchair. "Besides, if I leave Andrew here any longer he'll wake up with a crick in his neck, and we'll never hear the end of it."

Amy looked at the sleeping man with something close to fondness, and Xander again gave silent thanks that Andrew had been too tired for full-on geekitude. Xander could cope with every other sentence being an SF reference, but most people found it too disturbing for words.

"Did he really stay up all night researching?" she asked.

"I guess so. He gets a bit obsessive sometimes." Like every time he was ever let loose in the Council library, and had to be watched in case he started trying to infer demonology from Tolkien, or worse, Star Wars.

"It means a lot to him, doesn't it?" Amy said. "Being able to do this druid magic, I mean."

"That is just so weird," Xander admitted. "Andrew being good at something that isn't a really bad idea just doesn't happen. And yes, before you ask, I have got people checking that this isn't a really bad idea."

Amy raised an eyebrow, but let it pass. "How about you, how do you feel about doing magic?" she said instead.

"Magic and me are even more non-mixy than magic and Andrew," Xander told her. Again. "Books run away screaming when I approach, and don't get me started on the disaster that was the love spell."

In response, Amy just waved the note that Ste had left behind at him. Again. "Gone to find another pair," it said. "PS: tell Mr H he does too count."

"Who's the Watcher here?" Xander countered. "And when did I become 'Mr Harris' anyway? I keep telling everyone to call me Xander."

"We would if you weren't years older than us."

"Hey, I'm only twenty five!"

"Going on five," Amy muttered. She sighed. "I'm serious, this isn't something you can just brush off. Josh needs eight people for this ritual. If you're willing to be one of them, maybe he's got a chance of finding enough others."

"We'll all be much better off if I can get someone who actually knows what they're doing up from London," Xander responded. He wasn't kidding about how well he and magic got on, but Amy didn't seem to be inclined to listen much.

"You're here," said a sleepy voice. Apparently they'd woken Andrew up. Xander felt annoyed, despite the fact that he'd been going to do exactly that in order to get the guy home. "And we can do it. I know we can, Xander."

Xander disagreed. "You of all people know not to let me loose with magic," he said.

Andrew blinked at him owlishly. "But Josh needs four pairs for the fertility ritual, and—"

"And that's even worse. Me plus magic plus sex is double-plus ungood." See previously mentioned love spell, he thought. And if he did talk Willow into joining them... no, just no. After the Fluke there was no way he was going to put himself and Willow together ever again.

"But we match," Andrew whined.

"Not happening," Xander said sharply. Sometimes the only way to get through to Andrew was to be blunt. The guy spent so much time off in worlds of his own, and there wasn't always a gentle way of bringing him back down to earth.

"Could you excuse us a moment, Mr Wells?" Amy asked sweetly. Xander looked at her suspiciously. She didn't wait for an answer off either of them, but dragged Xander aside into the bedroom.

Once the door was closed, she rounded on him. "Do you get lessons in being rude at Watcher School?" she hissed. "Why on earth were you talking to him like that?"

"I was talking to him just like I was talking to you," Xander pointed out reasonably.

"Exactly!" Amy fumed. "You could at least have let him down gently."

"Let him down from what?" Xander had no idea what his Slayer was talking about. Maybe it was some English cultural thing.

Amy stared at him. "You really don't get it, do you?"

"No, I don't. OK, so I was a little harsh dealing with Andrew, but sometimes you've got to be like that to get through. You make it sound like I've just given him a major insult."

"Because you have! Didn't you hear what he said? You two are matched."

"Because we did the aura thing? That doesn't make it a good idea for me to do anything important."

Amy sighed. "You're matched like Josh and Ste are matched," she said. She looked at Xander expectantly.

Xander still didn't get it. Josh and Ste being matched was important because of the Voice thing, and Xander was just relieved that they'd decided to embrace the gay. If they'd had a typical teenage hissy-fit instead, things could have gotten sticky, so to speak. Xander and Andrew being matched wasn't even in the same league. It wasn't as if anyone was expecting them to do the fertility ritual as a... oh.

"You mean he...? With me?" Xander squeaked. He gestured wildly, putting his head in his hands when Amy nodded. "You know I'm not gay, don't you?"

"Could have fooled me," Amy said.

Xander looked up sharply, and was surprised to find she looked entirely serious. "Hey," he objected, "I have a long and disastrous series of girlfriends that says otherwise."

"And I seem to remember you persuading me it was OK to have a pair of ex-boyfriends suddenly decide to take up with each other."

She had a point, but Xander wasn't about to admit it. "I'm not," he insisted mulishly.

"Either way," Amy continued as if he hadn't spoken, "he worships the ground you walk on, and you just smacked him down like it was nothing."

"He what?" Xander was momentarily thrown until he realised what must be going on. "Ah. No, you see Andrew over-dramatises everything. He's still a little kid at heart. I know he respects me," which was kind of nice to know actually, given the off-hand appreciation he got from his friends, "but he makes it look like more than it is."

Amy shook her head, clearly unconvinced. "The look on his face when you're busy with something else... Even if he was, you shouldn't have treated him like that. Not after what you said to me about Ste."

"Hey, no fair holding my own words against me," Xander protested weakly.

"That's why you're going to go back in there and apologise to him," Amy said in a calm and reasonable voice, as if Xander was some misbehaving two-year-old. The glint in her eyes said equally clearly that this wasn't a suggestion, and further argument was only going to get him further in trouble.

"Buffy never did this to her Watcher," he muttered rebelliously.

"Do you want me to phone her up and compare notes?" Amy asked sweetly.

Now that was a serious threat. Xander wasn't sure he ever wanted his Slayer to meet his best friend, given just how much dirt Buffy had on him and just how much of a headache the three of them had been for Giles. "All right," he said, "I'll apologise, but only if you promise never to tell another living soul. Or unliving demon, for that matter," he added hastily thinking of what Angel or Spike would do with the information.

"Deal," Amy said quickly.

It was Xander's turn to look at her. "You are going to make a terrifyingly good mother," he said.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Amy told him, but she looked pleased. "Come on, I'll keep the boys occupied in the kitchen while you have your talk."

Xander toyed with the idea of not apologising and just saying he had. It would come back and bite him, though; everything did around here, it seemed. Instead he followed Amy quietly back into the living room, and had a revelation.

Andrew had curled up in the chair, and normally Xander would just have assumed that he was dozing off again and shaken him awake. This time he was paying attention, and he couldn't miss the misery in the slump of Andrew's shoulders. Then Andrew seemed to notice they were back, and as Xander watched he gathered himself together until the face that he turned to them was close to his usual hopelessly optimistic self. "Are we ready to go now?" he asked, sounding tired but otherwise normal.

"Almost," Xander said as Amy rapidly retreated to the kitchen. This was bad, he thought. Andrew screaming and running when things went wrong was normal. Andrew "soldiering on" by whining incessantly about how things weren't fair and nobody cared, that was normal too. Andrew actually soldiering on, concealing his feelings when he had cause to complain? Not even a little bit normal. How had he missed this, Xander wondered?

"I'm sorry," he said simply.

Andrew looked puzzled for a moment. Then his face fell. "I've put so much work into this," he said quietly, then smiled; "so it should be easy for Willow to pick it up."

Now he was looking, Xander wasn't fooled for an instant. That had been genuine hurt in Andrew's voice, and the smile was painfully fake. How long had he been treating Andrew like this, Xander wondered, that the guy only expected to have everything taken away from him?

"Willow isn't picking anything up," he said firmly. "This is all yours. I'm just... I didn't realise what you were asking me. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you like that."

A variety of emotions flashed across Andrew's tired face before he settled into sullen anger. "The answer's still no, isn't it?" he said.

Xander looked at him in confusion. "I'm really flattered," he said, "but y'know, not actually gay here. And the whole magic business scares the bejeesus out of me." Andrew growing something resembling the beginnings of a spine, however, was bound to be bad news. Xander narrowed his eye, starting a mental checklist of indications that Andrew might be going evil on him again.

Andrew looked at him incredulously. "You're the One Who Sees," he said, "you aren't scared of anything. This is just because you don't want me to be able to do something that Willow can't."

"I'm not stopping you doing anything," Xander said. He'd probably better plan on doing exactly that, though; the little weasel wouldn't stand up to him unless he had some pretty solid backing.

"Yes you are! I can't do this ritual without you!"

"Sure," Xander said skeptically. As the sacrifice or something, just like most of Xander's other dates. He didn't know what Amy thought she was doing try to set him up like this, he'd have to see about that Slayer of his—

Xander hit the brakes on his train of thought so hard he was surprised he couldn't smell burning rubber. "Damn, but this place is good," he said softly.

"What?" Andrew demanded suspiciously. Xander couldn't blame him.

"This corrupted grove thing," he said, waving a hand vaguely in entirely the wrong direction. "It nearly had me, playing on my fears... never mind."

"But you're the One—"

"—Who Sees, yadda, yadda. That doesn't mean that stuff doesn't scare me still, I just don't run screaming any more. Well, not often anyway. What's more important is, why can't you do this ritual without me?"

"Josh figured it out," Andrew admitted. He looked a little stunned himself, as if he had just figured out how this place was playing him. Xander decided never to bring the subject up again.

"He and Ste, raw though their talents are, form a locus of considerable power when they work together. Much more power than most individual magic workers."

"So they'd overpower everyone else in the ritual unless they're all pairs of druids?" Xander asked, catching on. "Won't that risk putting too much power into the ritual?" He had a vague memory of Giles telling him that overdoing magic was just as dangerous as underdoing it.

"We're trying to undo centuries of neglect," Andrew explained. "I don't think it's possible for us to put too much power in."

"Right." Xander took a deep breath. "So, you and me, we're a pair of druids under the meaning of the act?"

Andrew nodded gravely. "One of only two that we know of in the entire world," he said. "Josh needs four." He was trying to look serious and objective, but Xander wasn't fooled for a moment; Andrew wanted this with all his heart.

"And we'd have to..." He waved a hand vaguely between them, not wanting to say more. For all his preaching tolerance to all and sundry, when it came to another guy wanting sex with him, Xander was right back with the sheer panic that had overcome him in the locker room with Larry. He'd felt guilty about it afterwards, wondering if Larry would think he'd led him on, but at the time as now his immediate reaction was one of blind fear.

Of course, he'd said he didn't run screaming any more.

"OK," he said.

For a moment, Andrew looked like Christmas had come four days early and brought the next decade of Christmases with it. Just for a moment. Then his face fell again. "I'm sure Josh will be very grateful," he said.

"I'm sure Josh will be very alive," Xander countered. What was up with Andrew now, Xander wondered. He'd just agreed to do the nasty with him, and Andrew had managed to be not miserable for all of a second. They'd already managed to miscommunicate enough, he thought; time to be direct. "Andrew, what's the matter?"

"Nothing," Andrew said, trying to look happy and failing miserably. Xander looked at him. "Nothing's wrong," Andrew repeated. "We make the great sacrifice and save a life, and everything's OK. I get it."

"No, I don't think you do," Xander said. Not that he blamed him; until Andrew had opened his mouth and Xander had winced at the pain in his voice, he hadn't understood either. He slid down onto one knee next to the chair and looked a surprised Andrew straight in the eye.

"Andrew Wells, will you do me the honour of accompanying me to the Grove this solstice?"

Andrew went from surprised to stunned. "You really mean it?" he whispered. It wasn't really a question, but he sounded like he couldn't really believe this was happening. Xander winced inside all over again.

"Yeah, I really mean it. I don't know whether it'll come to anything," he said, holding up a hand to forestall the flood of words he could see coming, "I don't know if I'll be OK with the whole... thing, but I do know that we've hurt you too much. _I've_ hurt you too much."

There was plenty more he had to say, apologising for the years of put-downs and distrust, but Andrew seemed to have heard enough. He leaned over and kissed Xander full on the lips. For a moment Xander panicked — man-lips, man-tongue, gah! — but before Andrew could pull away he squashed the fear down and kissed him back.

It was less different than he'd imagined. Strangely softer than kissing a girl, though that kind of made sense when you compared Andrew to Anya or Cordelia, but it left Xander feeling stronger and more supported than he ever had before. If this was what the whole gay thing was supposed to be like, Xander thought, then maybe it wasn't going to be anything to be scared of after all.

He wasn't sure how long they kissed, but he was the one to break it. Sitting back, he watched Andrew savour the moment, slowly opening his eyes and with the most un-Andrew-like soft smile on his lips. Xander grinned back. No, this wasn't going to be scary.

There was a cough from the doorway.

"Miss Barnes," Andrew exclaimed, every bit as flustered and panic-stricken at the sight of Amy standing there as Xander remembered Wesley as being when he first arrived in Sunnydale, and that train of thought was stopping right there or Xander was going to start giggling hysterically. "We were just... I mean I—"

"We were kissing," Xander said, putting an arm round Andrew. He wasn't about to deny it, not this time.

Mark's head appeared around the doorway. "Are you going to have sex?" he asked.

"Mark!" Simon's cry from the kitchen was strangled with embarrassment. Amy's smile became decidedly fixed. Mark himself just looked disgusted.

"They want me to pretend I don't know anything about sex," the youngster confided, "but I know lots."

Xander nodded wisely. "Most people your age don't know anything about sex," he said, trying to look and sound perfectly serious. "You wouldn't want to make them jealous, would you?"

Mark appeared to consider this. Before he could say anything more, Amy cleared her throat pointedly.

"I just had a text from Ste," she said, holding up her phone. "They've got two more pairs."

"They have been busy," Xander said. He shared a look with Andrew and grinned. "You'd better tell them they've got a full set, then."

Mark looked back into the kitchen. "They're being all icky and romantic," he complained. Simon's response was no less strangled than before, but at least Amy looked amused this time. Also unreasonably pleased with herself, and Xander was going to have to think of something evil to bring her down a peg. Later.

"Come on," he said, hauling himself and Andrew upright. "We need to get you to bed for a few hours. To sleep," he clarified, before his audience could leap to the obvious conclusion.

"Mm," Andrew agreed happily. "I'll need my strength later."

"See, I told you they were going to have sex!"

"Mark!"


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The big ritual. What could possibly go wrong?

Jack Osbourn pasted a smile onto his face and tried not to look like he was worried that his step-sons had blithely let so many people into the flat. So many extremely unexpected people. Jake had taken the young American lad who'd had something to do with what he'd gone through to his room for some serious private discussion, along with Josh Ashworth and a nervous-looking John Paul. Craig, strangely, hadn't blinked an eyelid at that, and had instead hidden himself away with Ste Hay, Justin and another young man that Jack didn't know at all, leaving him to play host to three more guests. He didn't know what was going on, and it was beginning to get a little irritating.

Well, he thought to himself, he wasn't going to get any answers if he didn't ask any questions.

"It's good to see you, Amy," he said warmly. Best to get the social niceties out of the way first. "How's little Leah?"

"She's into everything," Amy said with a fond sigh. "I think she can tell Christmas is coming, she's excited enough. We left Dad on baby-sitting duty this evening, I just hope she behaves for him."

"And how are you doing these days?"

Truth to tell, Amy was looking better than Jack had expected. He hadn't approved of her leaving home, particularly not to live with a tearaway like Ste, but he knew full well that you can't tell a teenager anything they don't want to hear. Besides, given how disappointingly his own son had turn out, Amy would probably be better off without him interfering.

"We're doing well, thank you, Mr Osbourn," Amy said. "Have you met Simon and Conrad?"

"Simon I remember," Jack replied with as friendly a smile as he could manage. It had been one of the few occasions that he'd felt ashamed of his adopted family, and truth be told, Simon Crosby wasn't looking any better today than when he'd been effectively run out of town. "It's good to see you back for Christmas," he continued. "How's the job in Tenerife going?"

Simon looked blank for a moment, then looked at his feet. "It's fine, sir," he said. "It keeps me busy."

It was doing no such thing, Jack thought sadly. It didn't take the instincts of a retired policeman to tell that there was no job in Tenerife; Simon had probably just made up a convenient lie to reassure his friends before he'd left. Still, if he didn't want to tell, that was none of Jack's business. He nodded and smiled, and asked "Can I get you something to drink?"

Simon nodded without saying anything or looking up, convincing Jack that he was in no way right with the world. Turning to the sideboard he poured out a scotch each for himself and Simon, and — mindful of his license even in his own living room — something more age-appropriate for the teenagers.

"So, Conrad is it?," he asked as he handed the drinks out. "I don't think I've seen you around the village."

The boy flushed and look down too. "He's only been staying with us a couple of days," Amy explained.

"A friend of that boyfriend of yours?" Jack asked, letting a note of disapproval slip into his voice. It didn't seem likely, the boy was far too shy to be one of Ste's crowd.

"No, no, nothing like that," Amy said a little too quickly.

"I came with Simon," Conrad said quietly.

Jack raised an eyebrow. The lad didn't look like life had treated him particularly well either, but it wasn't going to do Simon's tattered reputation any good to be seen hanging around with teenagers. There were still more than enough people around who would mistrust him on sight, for all that he had been exonerated. Jack wondered why he had come back to Hollyoaks at all; it would be easier for him to go somewhere new, somewhere that eyes weren't following him and tongues wagging at his every move.

"Are you sure the two of you are OK?" he asked, looking mostly at Simon.

"No," Simon said candidly. He shot a look at Amy. "I wouldn't say either of us was OK, but we're better than we were."

"What happened to you?" Jack asked in spite of himself. If these shy, timid people were an _improvement_...

"You don't want to know," Amy said quickly. "Trust me, you really don't want to know."

"I used to be a policeman, love," Jack reminded her. "There's not a lot they can say that will shock me."

"This would," she replied darkly.

Jack forbore to argue. "Have you been to the police about it?" he asked. From the way the two of them were, he reckoned they'd need some encouragement to do so.

Simon shook his head, still not looking up. "There's no point."

"I know it's painful to talk about it," Jack said softly, "but the sort of people who would take advantage of you need to be stopped. What if they started in on someone else, eh?"

"It's been dealt with, Mr Osbourn," Amy said flatly, cutting across his appeal to their consciences.

"Amy dealt with them," Conrad said, looking at her with something close to worship. While the boy probably had an exaggerated idea of what had happened, Jack didn't like the implication one bit.

"Amy!" he scolded. "You can't take the law into your own hands!" He had more to say, much more about how that sort of behaviour had hurt Simon in the first place, but to his surprise Simon interrupted him.

"Please, Jack!" he said, and Jack could see how much of an effort it was for Simon to use his name even. "There are some things that the law can't deal with."

"You'd be surprised," Jack told him. "Gilly and Jake could both have been arrested for what they did to you."

"This was different," Simon insisted. "The police couldn't have done anything for us."

"But Amy could?" Jack asked incredulously.

"She's special," Conrad said, eyes shining.

"To be fair, that was more Mr Harris," Amy said quickly, trying awkwardly to be diplomatic. "Him and Justin anyway."

"Justin?" The boy had all but moved in over the last day or two, and to Jack's shock not only had neither Jake nor Craig raised any objections, they'd both become very protective when Jack had done as much as mention him. Even Frankie had held her tongue, though Jack knew she still bore a grudge over what he'd done to Becca. Jack was beginning to get a very bad feeling about the whole business.

"Would this have anything to do with what happened to Jake?" he asked Amy.

"Um, yes?" she said apologetically.

"Jake was trapped like we were," Simon said tiredly. "Amy and her friends... dealt with it."

Jack couldn't believe he was hearing this, and from Simon of all people. "Amy, this isn't like you," he said. "I don't know what Ste's been telling you, but—"

"This is nothing to do with Ste," Amy said firmly. "I know you don't like him," an understatement if ever there was one, "but he had nothing to do with what happened."

"Then who did?" Jack demanded.

"Should my ears be burning?" an American voice came from across the room. Jack turned to see that Jake's group had emerged from hiding, and the lad he was growing ever more suspicious of was looking at him quizzically.

"Jack, this is Xander Harris," Jake said. He sounded unusually solemn to Jack; in fact they all looked serious, apart from John Paul who looked like he was about to die from embarrassment.

"Nice to meet you, Mr Dean," Harris said, switching on a friendly smile that did nothing to make Jack feel happier.

"Osbourn," Jake said quickly. "He's my step-dad."

"Oh. Sorry. I swear, I don't know how you get all the names right without a score-card."

Jack ignored the banter, narrowing his eyes. "Are you the one responsible for _dealing_ with whatever happened to the lads here?"

Harris raised his hands uncertainly. "Technically? Kinda," he said. "I figured out what was going on and called the cavalry."

"But you didn't call the police. What on earth made you think that you could handle something like that?"

"Because I've been handling things like this since I was fifteen," Harris fired back, to Jack's surprise and worry. Harris paused, calming himself. "Seriously, there aren't many policemen who could have even found the guys. If they had, they'd have disappeared."

"Been killed, you mean," Jack said, not believing a word of it.

"If they were lucky," Harris said equably. He looked at Jake.

"I don't want to talk about it," Jake said, face closed.

"I know," Harris told him, "but he isn't going to believe me when I say the police couldn't have coped, and I can't blame him."

Jake sighed. "They don't deal with ordinary stuff, Jack," he said. "The stuff I saw... I wouldn't have believed it was possible."

"You expect me to believe that he's some kind of James Bond?" Jack demanded. Despite his words, he was shaken by Jake's quiet declaration. His step-son sounded like he really believed what he was saying, and Jack tended to trust that Jake knew what he was talking about.

"Not that kind of extraordinary," Jake said. "I saw a stone statue hold Justin up in the air. There was this thing that couldn't have been human talking to people. And I had to... something made me do everything this woman said, despite my best efforts."

Jack was shocked. Saying what he said obviously cost Jake dear, and he clearly meant it all. Simon and young Conrad went to him straight away, murmuring reassurances, which was just as well because Jack couldn't get himself moving at all.

"We deal with the supernatural," Harris said calmly. "Vampires and demons and all the things you thought were just stories. I got involved when my best friend was turned into a vampire, and my newest friend turned out to be the Vampire Slayer, a girl super-strong and super-fast enough to take on the nasties and win."

It was impossible. It went against everything Jack knew, but Harris seemed to believe what he was saying, Jake clearly thought he'd been through something, and none of the others were contradicting them. He turned to Amy. A girl who he was being told had just gone up against something supernaturally evil.

"Amy?" he asked plaintively.

She gave him a sad nod. Then she reached out, grabbed Harris by the belt and hoisted him into the air one-handed.

"Hey!" Harris squeaked. "Some warning would have been appreciated."

"It's true," Amy told Jack. She ignored Harris's protests, but did set him back down. "Somehow or other, I'm a Vampire Slayer."

" _A_ Vampire Slayer?" Jack asked. Shocked as he was, he hadn't missed Harris's implication that there was only one.

Harris looked smug. "We changed the rules," he said, carefully readjusting his jeans. "We needed lots and lots of Slayers to stop some world-endage, and anyway they can do a lot more good together."

And survive longer, Jack didn't doubt. "Amy, are you sure you've thought this through?"

"There's nothing to think through," Amy said. "The first I knew about it was when a vampire attacked me last week and I beat it off. They can't take this away, can't turn me back into just ordinary boring Amy. I don't think I want them to anyway; it feels good being able to help people."

"We don't know why fresh Slayers like Amy keep popping out of the woodwork," Harris chipped in. "She might be here to save the world, and I wish I was exaggerating about that. Heck, she might have already saved the world for all that I know."

Jack was saved from having to say anything by the sound of Craig's bedroom door opening. It didn't help his grip on reality when Justin, the first of the others into the living room, took one look at Jake and shot straight to his side. When the two of them embraced, Jack had to wonder if someone had slipped something into his whiskey. "Oh, the world's ending all right," he said quietly.

*******

"What's up with you?"

John Paul looked at Craig, and gave some serious consideration to whether he could get the ground to open up and swallow him. His boyfriend — and how weird was it that Jake had basically ordered them to get back together this time round? — his boyfriend had been quiet and serious since they'd all got together at the _Dog_ , but now that they'd reached the Grove a little of his usual laid-back humour was showing through. Unfortunately that meant that he'd finally noticed how uncomfortable John Paul was.

"Nothing," he tried gamely, doing his best to smile convincingly.

Craig was having none of it. "Come on," he said, "you've been like this ever since you four big bad druids went off to have your pow-wow. Are you having second thoughts about all this?"

"No, nothing like that," John Paul said quickly. Of course he was having second thoughts, and third thoughts and fourth thoughts for that matter, but that wasn't the problem. He'd seen enough to be sure that there were more things in heaven and earth and so on; just the fact that Jake, Justin, Josh and Ste were all agreeing would have done that. Taking Ste's word as gospel, however, that went against the grain. Heck, the whole magic business went against the grain, even if John Paul didn't have a lot of time for the Catholic beliefs that had been thrown at him since he could walk. All the same, if Josh's life really was in the balance — and what he'd seen backed the claims that it could be — then John Paul didn't see that they had a choice.

"So what then?" Craig asked. "Did someone say something to you?"

"Not exactly," John Paul equivocated. Nice as it was to have Craig get so protective over him, he could feel his cheeks reddening with embarrassment just thinking about what had happened.

Craig raised an eyebrow that told John Paul flatly that he was going to keep asking until John Paul confessed.

John Paul sighed. "You know how everyone's always happy for us as long as we never tell them what we do in the bedroom?"

"They asked...?" Craig said, goggling.

"In detail," John Paul confirmed.

Craig, the bastard, laughed. "Suddenly I'm glad I lost the toss," he said.

"Laugh while you can," John Paul told him. "Remember, we're doing it in front of them in a bit."

It was as well that Craig had been the one to have to learn the details of the ritual, for all that John Paul wished he hadn't been lumbered with explaining the mechanics of gay sex. Craig soaked up information like a sponge, much more quickly and accurately than John Paul did. He would remember all the bits and pieces that had to be done, John Paul had absolute faith in that, where John Paul himself might miss things. That was why Craig had won himself a place in Dublin, and John Paul was trogging along at HCC.

"If I could have your attention please?" The awkward young man who was Xander's partner was practically beside himself with excitement, which made his attempt to be serious and mature all the more comical. John Paul managed not to laugh; he had a nasty feeling he'd looked like that he had been younger and his sisters had taken him out on his first shop-lifting expedition.

"We need to prepare," the man continued, rummaging in a rucksack and starting to hand things out. "The ritual starts at midnight, but before that we need to purify ourselves. Each pair must wash in pure spring water."

John Paul looked at the bottle of Highland Spring Water that he'd just been given, and couldn't help feeling like it was cheating.

"After that we don our ceremonial vestments—"

"You sewed some sheets together," Ste complained, holding his up to the torchlight.

"Our _handmade_ ceremonial vestments," the young man repeated. "Only then can we enter the Sacred Grove and commence our working. No others should approach at this time."

Xander took over. "Amy, you're in charge of making sure that nothing gets into the Grove once we start. We've had enough little things trying to stop us that I don't want to bet some local nasty won't happen by. This place seems to object to us cleaning up the local magic, and it's not done yet. Keep Simon and Conrad with you for support." He looked at the men he'd just named. "Remember guys, don't be heroes. That's Amy's job."

Turning back to Amy, he continued, "If you really, really need to find out what's going on inside, send one of the boys in. They can probably get close enough to see without affecting things, but we don't want to risk it with you. We've got no idea what effect your Slayer essence will have on the magic."

Amy didn't look terribly happy, but she nodded. John Paul managed not to be too obvious about letting out a breath; she'd bought it. It sounded plausible enough, but John Paul knew for a fact that Xander had invented the excuse out of whole cloth. None of them, particularly not Josh and Ste, wanted Amy to catch them in the act. John Paul didn't really want anyone seeing him and Craig _in flagrente_ , but there was no avoiding it with the other pairs, and Xander seemed to be happy enough that Simon and Conrad would keep anything they saw to themselves.

"Right," Xander said decisively, then paused. For a moment the confident, light-hearted adult who knew exactly what was going on was replaced by a young man every bit as nervous as John Paul was. "We're really doing this, Andrew?" he said to his partner dazedly.

Andrew straightened, taking on the seriousness and authority that Xander had shed. "We're really doing it," he confirmed.

"Then what are we waiting for?" Ste cried.

What indeed. John Paul shared a look and a smile with Craig, unexpectedly buoyed up by Ste's determination. Strange as all this was, he and Craig were together, and together they could face anything.

******

Ste stood in front of Josh, both of them wearing nothing but bedsheets, feeling like a right berk.

Five minutes ago he'd been on top of the world. He had put down the bowl he'd been given and filled it with water, saying the words that Mr Wells insisted were necessary, intent on 'purifying' himself by quickly dipping his hands in and splashing his face. Josh had stopped him with a touch. Gentle hands had undressed him and wiped him down head to toe, always with Josh looking at him like he was the most important thing in the world. Ste's heart had been full to bursting. He loved Amy, but what he had felt then with Josh had been so much more, so much more than he'd believed he could feel.

He'd wanted to make love to Josh there and then like nothing he'd ever wanted before, but he made himself stop. He'd never been big on self-control, and undressing Josh and washing him without a word was the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life. It had to be done, though; Josh needed the ritual completed, and they didn't have time for Ste to show him just how much he mattered.

Inside the Grove, all that confidence had evaporated. Ste was acutely conscious that all eyes were on him. He would be the first to speak, starting the ritual proper, and panic was beginning to set in. He looked ridiculous, Mr Wells's careful pattern of words fled his mind, he was going to let Josh down, this whole stupid thing was bound to fail...

Josh's hand reached out and clasped his shoulder, and Ste managed to quell his fear at least a little. Josh was relying on him, stupid as that was, so he'd just have to look like an idiot.

"I speak for the East," he managed, and started in shock as the magic gripped him. The words in his head, the ones he'd been carefully memorising for the last hour, suddenly they weren't his words any more. They were Josh's words, and he was Josh's, body and soul, and the utter certainty that Josh didn't think he could ever look like an idiot lifted him up. The knowledge that the magic had hit Josh like a kick to the stomach pushed him onwards.

"The call for change, shifting like water," he continued, stronger and more confident with each word. He poured more water out onto the ground, not caring any more that it had been bought at the _Drive'N'Buy_ only a few hours ago. It was binding him and Josh into the Grove and that was as it should be. This was their right and their duty.

"We are the promise of spring, that life and light returns again."

++++

"I speak for the South, the comforting hearth, lighting the darkness."

Justin's voice rang strong and clear, and Jake felt a surge of pride before the magic took over and left him nauseous. He'd felt so guilty when Justin had taken his bandage off, exposing the damage that Jake had caused to full view. He deserved to feel guilty after what he'd done, but Justin would have none of it. He'd taken Jake's hand and put it over the wound. "See," he had whispered, "it's healing. Just like us."

All at once the division between himself and Justin blurred; those were — always had been — his words in Justin's mouth. Jake struggled for a moment, but this was _Justin_ and it was _right_.

When he/Justin placed the thick, lit candle on the ground and the Grove accepted them, he/Jake was almost overcome with awe. Almost, but not quite; Justin was his rock in the thrumming loops of power they were now part of, and somehow he was Justin's rock too. The two of them were in perfect balance, one thought and one voice.

"We are the promise of summer, that life and light rules again."

++++

"I speak for the West, the race for the harvest ahead of the storm."

Craig felt like a total prat. Not just because of the way he looked, though that didn't help, but because the his part of the ritual didn't make sense. He was hardly an expert — hardly believed that what they were doing would accomplish anything — but it hadn't escaped his notice that Ste carried water, Justin fire, and Andrew earth. Air was the missing element, but he'd been given a handful of carefully crushed dried leaves and seeds. Now was the moment for him to throw that handful in the air and make believe that it represented air itself, but John Paul's hand on his shoulder stopped him, and John Paul's understanding in his head showed him something else.

Craig lifted his hand and blew the dust into the air. It wasn't the dust that mattered, it was his breath. That was the air, the important air that had sustained life. Craig's breath was a part of this now as much as his words, and right now everything that was his was also John Paul's.

"We are the promise of autumn, that life and light fades again."

++++

"I speak for the North, cold and unyielding, the beginning and end."

Xander would have been surprised at the strength of Andrew's declaration, strong as the stone that was dropped to the ground before them, if he hadn't suddenly found himself being Andrew's strength. After all his years of fetching and carrying for Willow he had expected to feel something, but not something this powerful. This was closer to the joining spell they had used to defeat Adam; Xander _was_ Andrew in all but body, and he wasn't entirely sure he wasn't that too.

And Andrew wasn't entirely what he'd thought either. Insecure, yes; an outsider, for sure; obsessive, hell yes; but those were all traits with strong echoes in Xander himself. The differences between them were that Xander had learned restraint, or maybe to use his insecurity as a weapon, while Andrew still gave in to his romantic streak. Andrew looked at people and saw the good where Xander could only see the truth.

Bizarrely, after all he'd done, Andrew was still an innocent in so many ways. That was something to cherish and protect, Xander decided.

"We are the promise of winter, that life and light hides again."

++++

"The cycle turns and turns anew." Four voices as one, Josh thought, the same way that the eight of them were really only four. He could feel himself and Ste and the Grove and him-and-Ste, and he was running out of superlatives for how incredible it was. How incredible Ste was.

"We stand at the heart of winter, the longest night, and we offer our love as proof that even this changes." Josh hadn't really appreciated before how much Ste had changed. Or rather, he hadn't let himself; the Josh who had courted Amy couldn't think of Ste as anything but a nasty, unreliable schemer. The Josh who couldn't breathe without Ste knew just how far he'd come from that boy.

"We come to clean away the remnants of the old, to purify this sacred place, and to rekindle the spark of life." The Grove might be twisted, tainted by age, but if Ste could remake himself so completely, so could it. He could feel them feeding into it already, stripping away the darkness.

"As we do, so shall it be."

Heart in mouth for so very many reasons, Josh reached out to lift Ste's robe.

++++

Justin stood naked in front of Jake. He should have felt embarrassed or vulnerable or at least scared, but he didn't. He was too much in awe of Jake, ashamed at how close Jake had been to breaking before all this started with no one caring for him, barely able to understand how Jake found strength from him. He tried to give everything to Jake, submitting utterly so that his own screw-ups wouldn't have to hurt anybody ever again, only to find Jake doing exactly the same.

They needed each other, he realised. They balanced so well because each needed to lead and be led, and in each other they found the common sense they didn't have apart. Knowing that, accepting that, there was no room for fear of Jake any more than there was room for fear of himself.

Protected and protecting, more at peace than he had ever felt in his entire life, Justin reached for Jake's robe.

++++

What had he worried about earlier? Something like they'd be making love in front of the others, John Paul vaguely remembered. It didn't matter in reality, and that didn't seem strange either. What mattered was Craig kneeling reverently and expectantly on the grass in front of him.

It was all about connections, the tiny analytical part of John Paul's mind that was still capable of independent thought mused. He and Craig had always been drawn to each other, kicking and screaming sometimes, but the bond he could now feel between them was deeper and more profound than his most poetic flights of fancy.

Deeper than that, their connection drew them into the network of power that was the Grove. It was old and tired and hurt at levels where there was no distinction between Craig and himself, where only John Paul-and-Craig could connect. Even then they would have been overwhelmed without Josh-and-Ste, Jake-and-Justin and Xander-and-Andrew there too, the four of them building their own network to draw and purify and send back the energy that should have been building the life of the village.

Reverently, expectantly, unconcerned that he couldn't tell who he was any more, John Paul reached out to the other half of himself.

++++

It was beyond his wildest expectations. He had the perspective to appreciate how wild those expectations were now; how they had protected him when he had been ignored and mistrusted, and how they had earned him that mistrust in the first place.

He had been so very lucky that his childish crush had been on someone who truly balanced him, through whose eyes he could see how childish it had been and who had transformed it into something real. He had wanted this for all the usual stupid wrong reasons, egged on by a need for closeness and pulled back by the fear that it would hurt. Now he knew how much more there was to love, and how irrelevant the pain was.

Xander had let him in, and in doing so had held up a mirror so that Andrew finally saw himself. It was a gift he couldn't have imagined, might not even have wanted before, but it was the most precious thing he could think of now and he could never repay Xander for it. Xander saw the miraculous truth in others, though he could only see himself as ordinary, nothing special. If only he could see himself through Andrew's eyes...

Balanced in spirit, as close to one in mind and body as they could get, the One Who Believes discovered that he did have a gift for the One Who Sees after all.

******

"Duck!"

Months of ingrained obedience had Conrad dropping to the ground instantly. Older reflexes, honed at school, had him rolling aside before the creature that had crept up behind them could stamp on him. He rose awkwardly to his feet as Simon smacked the thing across the face with a fallen branch, just in time to get a nose-full of its bad breath as it roared its objection. The old Conrad would have either frozen or fled in terror; scared as he was, the new Conrad wouldn't allow himself the luxury of either response.

There was an answering roar from behind him, where Amy was dealing with another one of the monstrosities, and suddenly Conrad was pulled backwards out of the reach of swinging claws. Simon wasn't quite so lucky; his branch was shredded, the upper part of it scraping his cheek as it splintered. Then Amy burst past, landing a heavy kick in the creature's midsection and knocking it off its feet. "Try to keep it at range," she said before disappearing back to her own fight.

Simon nodded, picked up another fallen branch and smacked the demon again before it could get up. Conrad dived for the weapons bag that Mr Harris had left for them. If the creature was what he thought it was — and there couldn't be too many things that looked like a cross between a lizard and a panda and stank of rotting fish, surely? — then he could hope that there was something useful in there.

There was. Conrad pulled out two items. The holy water was thrown at the one threatening himself and Simon before it finished climbing to its feet, and Conrad was gratified to see the creature step back in obvious pain as its skin hissed and sizzled. He turned to where Amy was facing the other creature, holding a copper knife in his hand.

"Amy, catch," he shouted, picking his moment and throwing the knife to her hilt first. Amy plucked it out of the air and didn't need telling what to do with it. She slashed the thing across its chest, and even the poor edge that copper would hold was enough to cut its skin. The wound wasn't deep, but the creature howled, wobbled and sank to the ground. "Copper's a deadly poison to it," Conrad called by way of explanation.

Amy gave him a bright smile, then her eyes widened in panic. "Duck," she yelled urgently.

For the second time in under a minute, Conrad hit the ground. The knife whipped over his head in the fastest throw Conrad had ever seen, and another horrible howl arose far too close to him. The second creature thudded to the ground beside him, the dull point of the knife firmly embedded in its eye.

Conrad lay there for a moment, waiting for his heart to stop trying to escape through his ribcage. Some things about being in mortal peril never changed, apparently. At least this time he hadn't screamed.

Amy leaned over him. "Are you alright?" she asked. Conrad nodded, and sat up as she went to tend to Simon. He pulled the knife out of the already decaying corpse and looked at the way the soft blade had bent and twisted. He had a vague memory that it would have to be hammered back into shape the hard way; magically activated copper was much less poisonous for some reason.

"What were those things?" Amy asked, busily dabbing antiseptic onto Simon's cheek.

"Telesthesoi," Conrad said automatically. He spent a moment marshalling the little he knew about them. "Carrion eaters, strong and tough but not actually immune to harm. Sensitive to light, so not often found above ground. Unadulterated copper is highly poisonous to them, but they can digest almost anything else. Their bodies melt away in under an hour; nobody has found a way of preserving a telesthesos corpse, but then nobody has ever had a good reason to try."

He looked up to see Amy and Simon staring at him. For a moment he panicked — had he got it wrong, was Amy going to have to punish him? — but then Amy shook her head and smiled. "So, something else that has no business being here," she said. "On top of the vampire, the other ugly demon and the clueless party-goers, it looks like something really is trying to stop the ritual from happening. How long have they been going on now?"

Simon looked at his wrist. "Over an hour," he said.

Amy grimaced. "They should have finished by now," she said. Conrad and Simon said nothing. "Well, Mr Harris didn't say how long it would take, but it didn't sound like they had that much to do. It shouldn't have taken them a whole hour. Maybe we should check?"

Conrad wasn't entirely sure he agreed — he knew perfectly well that proper ritual magic could take hours and hours to get going — but there was another problem anyway. "Mr Harris said you shouldn't go into the Grove," he reminded Amy. "He was very firm about it."

"Right." Amy clearly wasn't happy about that, but there was nothing any of them could do about it. "You two will have to take a look, see if anything's gone wrong, while I carry on patrolling. Yell for me if you need help. I mean it," she added, looking pointedly at Simon. "I know Mr Harris told me to keep out, but I don't want either of you getting hurt."

Conrad rummaged in the weapons bag and handed Amy a silvered short sword. "We don't want you getting hurt either," he said earnestly.

Amy gave him a smile that made the last five minutes of sheer terror all worth while. Then she was off, circling the Grove to prevent any more demonic interruptions.

Conrad and Simon turned and started to make their way carefully through the brambles. After a moment, Simon said, "She likes you."

Conrad was glad that it was dark, so Simon couldn't see his cheeks flaming. "Left here," was all he let himself say.

Following him left, Simon was silent for a moment. Then he spoke again; "All I mean is that she sees something to like in you. There's more to you than the thing we were made into, and she can see that." There was a short pause, then he continued, "Do you like her?"

"Yes," Conrad said shortly, certain that he was blushing so hard that Simon could feel the heat. It was downright weird talking to Simon like this; they knew every inch of each other's bodies, but they'd never talked to each other.

"That's good," Simon said. "She gives you something to live for."

She did indeed, Conrad thought, not that he was worthy of her. But that thought provoked another, less comfortable one: what did Simon have to live for? Putting together the pieces that he'd heard over the last few days, it seemed to Conrad like a lot of people were suspicious of Simon around here, and he didn't have anywhere else to go. Conrad knew that feeling far too well.

"She cares about you too," he tried.

Simon shook his head. "It's not the same," he said, "but thanks."

Conrad made a mental note to ask Amy if she had any older friends they could introduce Simon to. He didn't have much time to think about it, because the brush abruptly thinned enough that they could see into the clearing.

It didn't even occur to Conrad to react to the sight of the eight naked men having sex; it was more people than he was used to seeing, but the sex had ceased being unusual long enough ago that he didn't think about it any more. Perhaps there was more urgency about their fucking than normal, but somewhere along the line he'd lost the habit of noticing such things. It had hurt less.

Despite that, something was making Conrad uneasy. All was not right with the scene before him; he couldn't place exactly what was wrong, but something left him feeling raw and on edge, something that had nothing to do with the sex and everything to do with the magic. Closing his eyes, Conrad tried to relax and figure out what was making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Perception and understanding hit in rapid succession. "It's killing them," he whispered, horrified.

"What?" Simon sounded shocked and disbelieving. Conrad wished he could give himself that luxury.

"They're using a fertility ritual to clean up the power here in the Grove," he explained, opening his eyes unwillingly. He didn't want his sight to confirm what his other senses were already telling him, but he'd lost too much to denial to take the chance. "They're drawing power from the Grove to make it happen, but you don't get something for nothing. Every bit of purification they do takes something out of them personally."

"Huh? But you said they're drawing power from the Grove."

"They can't use that power for themselves, not for this." Conrad spent a moment trying to find the words to explain this to Simon, while most of his racing mind was fixed on finding a solution. "The way the power flows around here is all twisted and tangled up, according to Mr Harris. They can draw power from it to divert the flow through themselves where they can work on it, but if they use that power for themselves it'll just twist them up as well and leave them too tangled to straighten it out. The Grove can keep the ritual running, but all the work has to come from them. And Mr Wells said there was centuries of work to do."

He could see it clearly now. At least some of the couples — probably all of them — cared a lot about each other, but nothing of that was visible now. They were just rutting mindlessly, almost mechanically, the way he had done when pushed to the limits of exhaustion.

"So what do we do?" Simon asked. It sounded like he too could see how wrong this had become. "Stop them from going too far so they can try again later?"

"I think they've already gone too far." For a moment, Conrad wished — but no, this was just further proof that he didn't deserve that yet. "The ritual is all that's keeping them going. When it stops, so do they. Damn it, I should have seen this coming!" he swore.

"You can't blame yourself for this," Simon protested. "No one could have known something like this might happen."

"I should have," Conrad insisted. "They're all new to magic, even Mr Harris and Mr Wells really, they must have missed the signs that it was going too far. But I should have known it could happen, I should have warned them. It's my fault, and I'm not going to let them die," he said fiercely. And finally he thought of a way to do it.

"What are you doing?" Simon demanded as Conrad unbuttoned his coat.

"Sacrifice." Conrad shrugged his coat off and onto the ground. His jumper quickly followed. "There was something about the old druids sacrificing someone if the year had been really bad. That would have given them power for the ritual, power that wasn't so twisted. If it's a willing sacrifice..." That would be more power, and purer power too. Conrad had more than enough power to save them, he was sure of that, and he was willing. The old him would have walked away with a sneer, but he'd learned better; he'd learned that everyone mattered, not just the people his family might approve of. He wasn't a great believer in destiny, but he did wonder if everything hadn't been leading to this; if he'd been humbled, purified, just so that he could step in now and give himself up for these people.

He had to make sure that Amy understood, though. He cared about her, more than the arrogant, self-centred boy he'd been had ever cared about anyone, but this was something that had to be done. In the end it was Ste she loved, and Conrad had to save him for her. He just had to make sure that she didn't think his decision was her fault.

"Simon, could you—" he began, then his world exploded in pain and stars.

He must have blacked out for a moment, because the next thing Conrad knew he was lying on the ground with a throbbing head, staring at a fallen branch. Something must have got past Amy, he thought, staggering to his feet. Something must have hit him from behind, and the only thing between it and their friends was Simon—

Simon was standing in front of the Holy Oak, with no sign of any other disturbance. He must have been the one to hit him, Conrad realised, and now he was trying to sacrifice himself. Conrad was afraid then, much more than when he'd been prepared to die himself. His one consolation was that Simon didn't know what he was doing, so he wouldn't be able to bind himself into this mess of a ritual.

"Simon!" he yelled, then winced as the shout reverberated in his head.

Simon turned, and Conrad's heart sank. The graze on Simon's cheek had opened up again, and a trickle of blood was oozing down his face. Blood, the best ritual connection he could possibly have.

"Don't do it," Conrad called frantically, ignoring the ache at the back of his skull. "Please, Simon, don't do it."

"Amy needs you," Simon said simply.

She needed Ste, Conrad was just a poor substitute, but there wasn't time to make Simon see that if he couldn't see it when it was under his nose. "Mark needs you," he tried instead.

Simon shuddered. "I'm the very last person Mark needs," he said darkly.

"But you've never done anything wrong!" The words 'that _she_ didn't tell you to do' didn't need to be spoken between them.

Simon didn't seem entirely convinced of that. "I've done plenty wrong," he said, absently rubbing at his graze. "Besides, you've earned your chance for a future."

"Earned it? I've never done anything right!"

"Amy wouldn't agree," Simon retorted. He hesitated for a moment, then said, "Tell her I said 'thank you'."

"Simon, no!" Conrad cried, moving into the Grove even though he knew it was hopeless. It was too dangerous; Simon was fully clothed, hadn't done any preparation, and didn't know the first thing about what he was doing. Conrad had to stop him.

Simon turned and steadied himself against the tree with the hand that had been worrying at his cheek. His blood touched the wood that was the linchpin of this place of power, and reality seemed to twist; Simon flowed into and somehow beyond the tree. As he disappeared, a wave of pure power erupted outwards, knocking Conrad off his feet once more.

He could taste it, he thought dazedly; the life of someone with a true heart, freely given, pure enough to claw the exhausted men back from the edge of oblivion. It was enough to reduce him to tears, not just because it signalled the loss of one of the few people he cared about, but also because even if he dedicated the rest of his life to righting wrongs, Conrad knew he could never muster a tenth of that purity.

It was typical of him, really. After all the humility that had been forced into him, here he was being humbled again.

The others had collapsed as well. Conrad crawled over to the nearest couple — he couldn't for the life of him remember their names — and was relieved to see that they were breathing evenly. They didn't wake when he shook them, though, and in his current state he couldn't drag them far. There was nothing for it but to call Amy.

He just hoped she could forgive him for not finding another way to save them.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Endings. Some are happy, some... aren't.

"What the heck?"

Ste sat up hurriedly, disoriented and not entirely awake yet but ready to defend himself. All he knew for sure was that someone was shouting and he had no idea where he was apart from being on a mattress on the floor.

"'S alright," Josh mumbled sleepily from the mattress. "It's just Rhys. Come back to bed."

It was Josh's older brother who had made all the noise, Ste realised. However even to his sleep-fuddled brain it was obvious that Rhys was staring at him, and that whatever he thought was wrong had something to do with Ste. Which was just typical, and Ste had had more than enough of it. He returned Rhys's glare with interest.

"What are you doing in my bedroom?" Rhys demanded.

Josh sighed and hauled himself upright. "Gilly and Beth have got my room, remember," he said. Ste gave him a quick smile as Josh wrapped his arms loosely around Ste and rested his chin on Ste's shoulder. Only a quick smile, though; Ste wasn't taking his eyes off Rhys while he looked so upset.

"No, what's _he_ doing here," Rhys insisted. Then he did a double-take. "Josh! You're..." he waved helplessly at the pair of them, wide-eyed with amazement.

"Yes, we're gay," Josh said heavily. "Get over it."

"I think he meant about you speaking in English again," Ste said as Rhys started choking.

"Oh. Oh!" Josh hugged Ste to him and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you," he said simply.

Ste knew how much lay behind that simple statement, and couldn't help grinning sappily in return. "My pleasure," he said truthfully. Then with malice aforethought he added, "Let's do it again some time."

Josh grinned back. "Only without the whole nearly dying first bit," he agreed.

"You and him?" Rhys seemed to have found his voice again, though he was looking more horrified than amazed now.

They nodded. "How you didn't notice us when you staggered in last night I will never know," Ste said with as straight a face as he could manage.

"You were here? When I was...? Oh my God!" Rhys grabbed a pile of clothes and practically ran out of the bedroom.

Ste felt Josh shaking with laughter and gave up the unequal struggle himself. Turning, he saw Josh clearly for the first time since last night, and his breath caught in his throat. Just seeing him brought home everything that they'd been through, just how much Josh meant to Ste. He loved Amy, but what he and Josh had went beyond Ste's selfish idea of love into something much bigger, much scarier. He had put himself completely at Josh's mercy even before the magic had joined them and shown him beyond a shadow of doubt that Josh would never willingly hurt him. Josh was more important to him than he was himself, and he couldn't say for sure that was true of even Amy.

The weird thing was that he knew now that Josh felt exactly the same; that he put Ste first, and he knew Ste would never hurt him. In some ways that was scarier than Ste trusting Josh. Josh had always been basically decent, doing the right thing and caring about people. Ste hadn't. For Josh to open up to him like that, knowing full well what Ste was like... he didn't understand how, but it made him feel humble and a hundred feet tall at the same time.

Josh seemed to be thinking along the same lines, the way he was staring at Ste. "Beautiful," he murmured, then leaned in to kiss.

Ste wanted to disagree, to point out that Josh was the looker of them, but that would have involved stopping kissing. And since it was their first actual kiss, after all they'd been through, it would have been a crime to have stopped then. It wasn't that Josh's kisses were overwhelming or made his brain melt or anything like that, but they were Josh's kisses, and that was enough to make them special in Ste's book.

Ste gently lowered Josh back to the mattress, settling himself comfortably on top and smiling down at him. He kissed him slowly, taking his time, surprised at how relaxed he was. He had never been one for patience, always just going for it when he felt passionately about something, but here and now despite the way his heart swelled when he just looked at Josh it was enough to hold and be held. Josh would probably have whole songs to sing about it, but the only way Ste could express it was that it was _right_.

Eventually Josh broke the kiss and sighed. "We'd better get up," he said reluctantly.

"I'm comfortable right here," Ste protested.

"Rhys will have got dressed and downstairs by now," Josh pointed out. "Do you really want my mum breaking in on us?"

Ste rolled over and flopped onto his back. "And the rest of your family too," he groaned.

"I love them dearly," Josh said, "but they have _the_ worst timing."

They did that, Ste had to agree. Mind you, nearly everyone in the village had the knack of showing up where and whenever was most awkward. Hopefully that was one of the things they'd fixed last night; it wasn't like Ste could hear Josh's family charging up the stairs, so maybe they could get away with... No. No sense tempting fate, he told himself.

He sat up again with a much-put-upon sigh and reached for his shirt. Pulling it on, he stopped to watch as Josh followed suit. "Love you," he said impulsively.

Josh smiled and blushed and stuttered out, "Me too. Love you, I mean."

It took a major effort for Ste not to lean over and kiss him again. Best day ever, he thought to himself.

********

John Paul woke to find Craig staring at him. Again. He smiled and stretched out to pull Craig closer.

"Every morning," Craig murmured before they kissed. It wasn't a long kiss — between them, it didn't need to be any more — and John Paul quirked an eyebrow at him when they parted.

"Every morning?" he asked.

"This is what I want to wake up to every morning for the rest of my life," Craig said sincerely.

"No more ifs, buts or maybes," John Paul agreed. "Not from either of us." He remembered being Craig last night, seeing himself as Craig saw him, and there was no uncertainty between them anymore. Craig was done with needing to hide, and John Paul was done with needing public reassurance.

"I'm glad we ended up at your place," Craig said. "Mum can't interrupt us here."

"And my sisters know better." John Paul wasn't entirely sure how they'd got back to his room. Everything went kind of fuzzy as they got into the ritual; all he had were vague memories of being quietly half-carried into the house, and that mostly because he'd had to let go of Craig.

They lay there, just kissing and touching each other, for the longest time. Everything between them had been so hurried, desperate to hold onto each other in case they never had another chance, that they'd never really had the luxury of just spending time together. Now that they had certainty, taking their time was something wonderful; there would be heat and passion at other times, John Paul knew, but this peace that they had now was something he would treasure forever.

"I love you, Craig," he said between kisses.

Craig smiled back at him; the easy, lazy smile that John Paul had fallen in love with so long ago, before the strain of being together had taken it away.

That alone would have made John Paul content for the day, but Craig didn't leave it there. He clasped John Paul's hands and asked, "Marry me?"

John Paul couldn't help but laugh in delight. "Yes," he said, grinning fit to bust, "yes, oh God yes!"

As if to prove that their ritual last night really had fixed everything, Craig didn't take John Paul's laugh amiss. Instead he laughed himself, pulling John Paul close again. "It's taken us long enough, hasn't it?" he murmured.

"We weren't ready, neither of us," John Paul told him. "We might still be dancing round each other if Xander hadn't knocked our heads together."

"Him and Jake and Justin," Craig agreed. "But I promise that's over. I don't want a life without you in it."

"I know," John Paul said. He did know it, right to the core of his being, and he was sure Craig knew it was true in the same way when he said, "Me too."

He kissed Craig once more for good measure, then sat up and reached for a shirt. "Come on, let's tell my family the good news."

**********

The third day that Jake woke up with Justin was much calmer than the first two. There had been no falling out of bed, no angry mother, no panics or alarms of any kind. Jake had simply woken to find himself nose to nose with Justin, both of them under the covers this time, and there was never any question about it; all was right with the world. For the first time in a disturbingly long while, everything had been calm and clear; all the fears and false certainties had been silenced, leaving Jake completely at peace.

When Justin had stirred, opened his eyes and smiled, Jake had understood. Justin was his strength, his protection, his heart; Justin stood between him and anything that would hurt Jake, including Jake himself. The desperate need for control was gone, no longer necessary, because Jake had Justin to lean on when things got away from him.

That had been incredible enough, but to Jake's amazement it was exactly the same for Justin; Jake was his defence against the world, his shoulder to lean on, and his reason to think through his actions. The two of them together were a whole, the bitter hatred they'd felt for each other just a faded memory now that they were complete. It was something he never could put into words properly, but he knew and Justin knew, and that was all that really mattered.

They'd made slow, gentle love, fully aware of what they were doing and without even a hint of the panic Jake used to feel when he thought about Craig and John Paul together. It was perfect. It didn't occur to either of them to worry about Justin's injury until they were relaxing in the afterglow, and somehow Jake wasn't be surprised to find that even that physical sign of the damage they had done to each other was gone. Only the faintest of scars showed where the cut had been, which was only fitting really; together, they had only the faintest of inward scars too.

Now they were dressed and venturing out of the bedroom, and Jake still felt buoyed up and ready to face the world. The difference from the way he'd felt for months — maybe even years — was amazing. He'd been carrying around his load of fear and depression for so long that he'd begun to think they were normal, Jake realised. Now... he couldn't help but laugh.

Justin, closing the door behind them, cocked an eyebrow questioningly.

"I'm good," Jake explained. "Everything's good."

"Yeah." Justin smiled back at Jake, a smile that meant he couldn't quite believe his luck. Jake knew that because he was wearing that smile's twin. "Me too."

Jake's mother was already cooking breakfast when they got to the kitchen. "Morning, Mum," Jake said brightly, hugging her and kissing her on the cheek as she stood at the stove.

"You're in a good mood," she said, smiling as she glanced at him. The look that she gave Justin was cooler and more measured, but Jake counted that as a win; there were no clipped questions about what Justin was doing there and no threats to toss him out. He had no illusions that his mum had forgiven Justin anything — that would have been too much to hope for — but it was a good start.

Justin, for his part, headed for the cutlery drawer. It was something normal to do, Jake realised, something 'family', and any other day he would have been happy to see it. This wasn't any other day, though; this was the morning after Justin saved Jake's sanity.

"Hey," he said, "enough of that. You're the guest here, this morning. You sit yourself down and I'll set the table."

"But I—" Justin tried as Jake chivvied him to the kitchen table.

"After all you've done for me," Jake interrupted, "I owe you this much. Just today, OK?" Unspoken between them lay the promise that Justin was part of Jake's family, that all of this was real.

Justin seemed to realise that this was important to Jake. After a moment's resistance he rolled his eyes and sat down. "Alright," he with a slight smile, "I just wanted to make myself useful."

Jake grinned. "I'd say you've been way more than useful already today," he said, thinking their earlier lovemaking. Judging from the way he blushed, Justin caught his meaning. Jake couldn't help himself; he leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

A loud crash made them both jump. Jake looked round to see his mother staring at them, a plate in pieces on the floor beside her.

"Are you OK, Mum?" "It's alright Frankie, I'll get it."

The two of them moved and spoke together, Jake reaching for his mother as Justin fetched out the dustpan and brush. His mother seemed bewildered, as if she didn't recognise him. "What's going on, Jake?" she asked uncertainly, looking between him and Justin.

For a moment, Jake had no idea what she was talking about. Being with Justin had been so natural that he had to think about exactly what he'd been doing before it dawned on him just how utterly changed they both were since last night.

"Ah, yeah," he said sheepishly. "Maybe we could have done that more tactfully."

His mother stared at him. "No," she said disbelievingly, "you're not like that."

Jake sighed. He'd known this would have to come but he'd put off thinking about it, partly because he was enjoying the moment with Justin and partly because of how he'd reacted when Craig had come out. He owed Craig and John Paul such a big apology.

"Apparently I am gay," he said quietly. Beside him, Justin went still, then slowly stood from where he'd been sweeping up the broken crockery. Jake was immensely reassured to know that Justin had his back, not that he'd had any doubt about it.

"We worked through a lot of stuff yesterday," Jake continued, avoiding any mention of magic. It was bad enough that Jack knew that there was capital-E Evil out there, Jake didn't want his mother involved. "Both of us have changed over these last few days. I'd been so scared for so long, I thought it was normal. Now suddenly all of that's gone, and everything's different. Everything's better."

"But him? After everything he's done? How could you even think of it?"

"After everything he's put himself through for me, how could I not?"

"All that did was even the score," Justin said mildly. "I hurt you and your family far too much."

"And I hurt you and yours," Jake admitted. "Neither of us understood what we were jealous of."

Justin nodded ruefully. "Frankie, if there was any way I could go back and stop myself before I got Becca killed, I'd do it."

Jake watched his mother stare narrowly at Justin. He could tell that she wasn't happy about what was happening, but at least she seemed to have accepted that it was happening. Fair enough; he'd had more than his share of miracles over the last day or two, expecting his mum to understand that everything really had turned upside-down and that they'd got it wrong all this time was a bit much.

"Well," she said finally, "I'm sure I don't know what Nancy's going to think of all this."

Jake and Justin winced in unison. That really wasn't going to be a fun conversation.

********

They fitted.

That was Xander's first thought on waking up. He was spooned around Andrew, and their bodies fitted together as perfectly as their minds had. And there was no freaking out at being with a guy, no disdain for being with Andrew, nothing wrong with the picture at all except maybe for Xander being annoyed with himself for not seeing it coming.

And wasn't that a kick in the pants for starting to believe in his own publicity? Xander prided himself on being the one to pay attention to other people, the one who kept the Slayers and witches and other important types getting on with each other; the One Who Sees in other words. For all of that, he'd looked down on Andrew just like everyone else had, and he hadn't seen the treasure hidden under the colossal social ineptness. How could he have missed something like that? How could he have missed something like being gay himself, for that matter?

Andrew stirred. "You're thinking too loudly," he grumbled.

Xander, paying attention at last, could hear the smile in his voice. "Sorry," he said lightly, and dropped a kiss on Andrew's shoulder.

Andrew heaved a happy sigh. "This is so much better than I imagined," he admitted. He took hold of the hand Xander had draped over his stomach and kissed his knuckles. "Do we have to get up?"

"Maybe not right now," Xander allowed. He was certainly in no hurry to move, except for nuzzling closer to Andrew.

"Good," Andrew said, and put Xander's hand back on his stomach. Xander took the hint and began to stroke gently, to Andrew's evident approval. At this rate, Xander thought, it wouldn't be long before they were back with the kissing and the sex, which was just fine by him. He wanted to be able to pay attention this time.

"Warren was the first person who ever took any notice of me," Andrew mused.

"Bit of a mood-killer," Xander advised him.

"I didn't understand then," Andrew continued. "I thought that was love. You've given me so much more, Xander, more than I ever dreamed someone like you could ever want to give me."

"Someone like me? I'm just an ordinary guy, Andrew, no one special."

"You are special," Andrew insisted. He wriggled round to look at Xander as he spoke. "You're the bravest person I've ever met. You've fought beside the Slayer with no magic or training— your eye!"

Xander winced. He'd had to take the eye-patch off when they'd done the ritual, and clearly whoever had gotten them back home hadn't put it back on. "Yeah, I know," he said. "There's nothing the doctors can do to make it look less icky."

Wordlessly, Andrew reached up to touch Xander's face, stroking the edge of his eye-socket. For a moment Xander couldn't figure out what was wrong with what he was seeing until it finally dawned on him; he was seeing with both eyes.

"Beautiful," Andrew murmured.

Xander reached up to touch his eye. No doubt about it, it really was there, fully healed and working as well as ever. And about as keen as ever about being poked. "Ow. But how? I'm kind of hazy about what happened, but the ritual was supposed to be about the Grove, not us. Not that I'm complaining, but it seems kind of weird."

"There must have been some sort of feedback," Andrew said, not taking his eyes of Xander's face. "The ritual itself should have taken power out of us until we stopped, there shouldn't have been anything to put back."

Xander thought about that for a moment. "Do you remember stopping?" he asked.

"Um, not really." Andrew sounded guilty about it.

"We totally let this thing get away from us, didn't we?"

"Yes."

"And the feedback thing means something went wrong?"

"Maybe?" Which was a 'yes' as far as Xander was concerned, particularly when Andrew said it so unwillingly. Apparently he was doomed to screw things up even with this kind of magic.

"Damn," he said. "We'd better check that everyone else is OK."

"Now?"

That was an outright whine, not that Xander blamed Andrew. His thoughts were running along pretty much the same lines. "Now," he said firmly, flopping onto his back so that he could glare at the ceiling. "Being responsible sucks."

"If only," Andrew muttered.

********

Waking up was not a pleasant experience for Amy. She hadn't slept well in the first place, haunted by images of Simon staring accusingly at her. Why had she saved him, her dreams asked, only to let him die a few days later?

She woke up disoriented, reaching across to the empty half of the bed. For a fuddled moment she panicked, wondering where Ste was. Then she remembered, and nearly broke down. Ste was with Josh, wouldn't let go of Josh last night even though he was out cold, and Amy had no one with her to face what had happened. She couldn't even rely on Mr Harris from the possessive way he'd held on to Mr Wells.

Amy wanted to curl up in bed and wait until the world went away, but she knew she couldn't do that. Leah would wake up and need feeding soon, and there were Conrad and Mark to think of as well. Reluctantly she hauled herself out of bed and got dressed.

In the living room, Conrad didn't look like he'd slept at all. He was sitting on the sofa, blankets wrapped round him, staring blankly at the wall. When Amy came in he raised red-rimmed eyes to her, and Amy's heart broke all over again. She all but ran over to hug him, as much to have a shoulder to cry on herself as to comfort him as he sobbed his heart out.

"I'm sorry," he sniffed eventually.

"It wasn't your fault," Amy said as reassuringly as she could. Conrad had been too distressed to make much sense about what had happened last night, but Amy had got the impression that Simon had sacrificed himself despite Conrad's best efforts. That didn't make it hurt any less, she thought bitterly.

"I should have known," Conrad insisted. "I should have figured it out earlier, I should have stopped Simon, I should have done something! But I never do. I never do anything right. I'm sorry, I'm useless."

"But you did figure it out," Amy told him. "If it wasn't for you it would have been much worse."

"If I hadn't said anything, Simon would still be alive. It should have been me, I'm not important or anything."

"I'm glad it wasn't you," Amy said guiltily. "I know it's a terrible thing to say, but I am. You're important to me. You've been here for me the last few days, when..." When she had managed to go one better than her older sister and turn both of her exes gay, and losing Ste to Josh was still too painful to think about. "You kept me together."

"No, please," Conrad whimpered as if she'd just threatened him instead of complimenting him. "You mustn't trust me. I'm not good enough. I'll only let you down."

"You won't," Amy insisted. "You showed me that much when you came after me yesterday. You said then that me believing in you made a difference. I still do believe in you, and your believing in me makes a difference too."

"But I'm selfish and weak and I don't deserve your trust."

"It's not about deserving," Amy said gently. Sometimes it was hard for her to remember how thoroughly Conrad's sense of self-worth had been destroyed. "Nobody deserves what you went through. Nobody deserves to die. Things happen all the same, and we have to deal with that and carry on. I really, really need your help now; I can't look after Leah and Mark by myself. Please?"

Conrad looked at her sadly for a moment before reluctantly nodding. It was a step in the right direction, Amy thought; small, but a step still. She was determined that she wasn't going to lose Conrad on top of everything else, though. She hadn't done enough for Simon, but she was going to do everything in her power to build Conrad's self-confidence back up.

The guest bedroom door squeaked open. Amy hastily pulled herself together and wiped at her eyes, not wanting Mark to see her in such a state. She was pleased to see Conrad do the same; breaking the news to Mark was going to be hard enough as it was without getting him upset before she'd even started.

"Can I get up yet?" Mark called. Amy had managed to impress on him that he should wait until at least one adult was up and about before he got out of bed, helped by the fact that Mark seemed to think that following direct orders was so important as to be practically sacred.

"Good morning, yes you can," Amy said as cheerily as she could, which wasn't very.

Mark appeared immediately, fully dressed and ready to go. Obviously he'd cut some corners, but Amy suspected that if she quizzed him he would claim that at no point had he actually lost contact with the bed while he was dressing. "Can I have Frosties for breakfast?" he asked eagerly.

"You had the last of them yesterday," Amy reminded him. Mark pouted. "You could have Corn Flakes and put the sugar on yourself."

"It's not the same," Mark protested.

"No it isn't," Amy agreed, herding the protesting nine-year-old to the kitchen table. "You could have toast instead."

"Can Simon make it for me?" Mark asked, clambering onto a chair. "He makes really good toast."

Amy glanced at Conrad, who was studying the floor intently. She sighed. "I'm sorry, Simon can't make toast for you," she said.

Mark pouted harder. "But I want Simon's toast," he insisted.

Slowly, sadly, Amy sat across from him. The lump in her throat made it hard to speak. "I'm sorry, Mark," she said eventually. "Simon... Simon's gone."

Mark looked puzzled, then outraged. "He said you weren't going to sell any of us," he said accusingly.

Taken aback, Amy didn't know what to say to that. Fortunately Conrad was stung into action for her.

"She didn't," he protested. "She's not like _her_ , Amy would never do anything like that. You can trust Amy."

That was what Simon and Conrad must have had to look forward to, Amy thought unwillingly. When that demon had done what she wanted to with them, they'd have been sold off as slaves or something. How many times had Mark watched that happen, thinking that was how life was supposed to work?

Mark certainly didn't seem to understand what was going on now. "But if Simon hasn't been sold, why is he gone?" he asked.

"He's dead." Amy couldn't make look at the others as she said it. Whatever Conrad might think, Simon had been her responsibility, and she knew how much Mark had looked up to him.

"But he promised to teach me how to swim," Mark said, and Amy couldn't help but wince at the hurt in his voice. "He can't be dead, he promised."

Conrad sat next to Mark and took his hand. "I'm sorry," he managed to choke out. "It's my fault."

"It was nobody's fault," Amy countered. It was a lie — she had been in charge of their safety, she was the one who had failed — but Conrad wouldn't accept that and Amy didn't want to confuse Mark more by arguing about it.

"Can't you make him alive again?" Mark asked. "With magic or something?"

"It doesn't work like that," Conrad said sadly. "Not even the most powerful magics can bring someone back to life."

"But I want him back," Mark wailed. He was crying now, and the mother in Amy couldn't bear to see that. She shifted her chair so that she could gather both him and Conrad into a hug.

"We all do," she told her odd little boy. "We all do."

******

Mike Barnes barely waited for his younger daughter to open the door before hugging her. He didn't know exactly what had gone wrong last night, but he knew that it couldn't possibly be good. Simon hadn't come home, and both Amy and the boy Conrad had been devastated.

Amy hadn't wanted him to hang around last night, just asking the bare minimum of polite questions about whether he'd had any trouble baby-sitting. Mike could tell that she had been hurting, though, which is why he had come back as soon as he could without raising Kathy's suspicions. He'd sworn that he would always be there for his girls, no matter what, and all this mystical nonsense that Amy was now part of wasn't going to make any difference to that. It might, however, make him have some sharp words with Xander Harris later.

"Oh Amy," he murmured as she hugged him back uncomfortably hard. "What has happened to us?"

Amy pulled herself together quickly. Still she didn't say anything as she let him inside, and she didn't look anything like her normal bouncy self. The boys too were sat unnaturally quietly at the kitchen table, even by their standards. Young Mark looked bewildered, and Conrad looked worse than when they'd rescued him. There was no sign of Ste; Mike wasn't particularly surprised that the feckless chancer had taken off a the first sign of trouble, but it was still going to hurt Amy that he wasn't here for her.

"Come home with me," he blurted out.

That certainly shocked everyone. "Dad?" Amy asked uncertainly. It was the most positive reaction Mike had had any time he'd raised the suggestion, so he ploughed on.

"All of you, come home with me," he said. "Ames, you look like you could do with someone looking after you for a bit. You shouldn't have to be looking after everyone else, not in this state."

"Why, because I'm not old enough?" Amy replied, but it didn't have the usual vehemence to Mike's ear.

"No one is old enough for everything," he said. "Whatever happened has knocked all of you for six. Why not come home and let me and your mother take care of you for a bit?"

It was the wrong thing to say, and he knew as soon as he said it. Amy's whole stance hardened.

"And how would we explain all this to Mum?" she said. She didn't raise her voice, but there was an edge to it that told Mike he was not going to win this argument. "How would we tell her that someone gave his life to save everyone else without giving her all the ammunition she needs to take Leah off me?"

"I don't understand," Conrad said uncertainly. "Your mother?" Mike decided to let his daughter field the question; he'd probably only make matters worse right now.

"I was very young when I had Leah," Amy explained. "Mum and Dad decided that they didn't want the scandal, so we pretended Leah was Mum's baby. Like keeping that secret was going to work around here."

"As I recall," Mike said mildly, "you were the one who decided to tell everyone in the middle of a party."

Amy glared at him, but Mike was having none of it. She'd made her own bed very thoroughly, despite his and Kathy's best attempts to help her out.

"Anyway," Amy continued, "Mum decided she'd be a better mother for Leah than I would. She sabotaged me every chance she got, then she tried to run off with Leah. That's why I left home in the first place, and that's why I can't go back."

Conrad, to his credit, looked appalled at the whole idea. "Maybe that was the Grove at work," he suggested hesitantly. "Maybe your mother won't be like that any more."

Amy gave him a sad little smile. "Maybe," she said, "but I'm not going to risk Leah like that, not for anything. Thanks for trying, though," she added, giving Conrad's hand a little squeeze.

Mike raised his eyebrows at puppy-like adoration Conrad managed to get into his answering smile. Clearly he would have to tell Conrad exactly what would happen if he didn't keep his hands to himself. Some time later, when they weren't all so fragile.

"Alright," he sighed, "have it your way. We still love you all the same."

Amy gave him a slightly sceptical look. Whatever she was going to say was cut off when the door opened and Ste piled into the flat, Josh hard on his heels.

"Oh, so you're back now," Mike muttered sarcastically. He didn't have much time for either of the boys, not if they'd left Amy in this state. Not that either of them had ever been on his Christmas card list in the first place.

Ste ignored him. "Amy, are you OK?" he asked, rushing over and hugging her.

Josh did exactly the same, not even waiting for Ste to release Amy before wrapping his arms around both of them. Mike did a double-take — what had happened to make that pair even tolerate each other he couldn't imagine.

"I'm fine," Amy said unconvincingly.

Josh shook his head. "We should have been here for you," he said.

"We came as soon as Mr H. told us what happened," Ste added. The two of them let go of Amy, but still hovered around her. "Why didn't you bring us here instead of Josh's place?"

"I didn't want you here!" Amy cried. Both boys looked shocked, speechless. Mike wasn't any better; much though he'd wanted Amy to throw both of them out on their ears, he had no idea what was going on. Amy didn't help; she took a moment to calm herself, then told them, "Besides, after all you've been through I thought you deserved some time together."

"What?" Mike asked, more confused than ever. Why would Ste and Josh want time together, never mind deserve it?

Josh ignored him. "Trust me," he said, trying for gentle humour, "that's never going to happen with my family around. We'd have had a quieter time if you'd left us by the fountain."

Ste went for a different tack. "Do you really think we could be happy knowing you were hurting?" he asked. "We still care about you, both of us."

"It wouldn't matter so much if you didn't," Amy told him sadly. "It hurts to see what I can't have."

Ste and Josh looked at each other uncertainly. Some kind of communication evidently passed between them, though Mike had no idea what; all he could tell was that Josh gave Ste the tiniest of nods before they turned back to Amy.

"You could have both of us," Ste said tentatively.

Mike gaped.

"Both of you?" Amy repeated faintly, eyes wide. She actually appeared to be considering the idea for a moment, then she shook her head. "No. No, I couldn't, I just..."

"But you need him," Conrad protested as she trailed off.

"She most certainly does not," Mike scoffed. His mouth was on autopilot, though; his brain was still struggling with the concept of Josh and Ste being _together_ together, and whether he should be happy Ste was out of Amy's life or beat the living crap out of both of them.

"You don't need him to be strong, or smart, or anything like that," Conrad continued, paying no more attention to Mike than anyone else had. "You need him because he cares about you, because he's _real_ , because... because despite everything, he'd do anything for you, and you love him."

"And he loves Josh," Amy said, staring sadly at Ste. "You heard what Mr Wells said, they balance each other perfectly. They really would do anything for each other, just look at what they've done already. I know they both care about me a lot, but I'd always be second best to that. I don't think I could cope with that."

Josh and Ste were staring back at Amy with identical looks of sad longing, Mike noticed. They were holding hands, though, and neither of them made any move to deny what Amy had said. "You need someone, though," Josh insisted. "Losing Simon, it's not something you have to face on your own."

Ste nodded, a faint smile creeping onto his face. "You need someone who'll force himself outside for the first time in months because you need a friend. Someone who needs your help and doesn't let that stop him giving you his help. Someone who knows how incredible you are even without all the Slayer stuff." He grinned ruefully and nodded at Conrad. "It's a good thing you've already got another one of them."

Conrad wilted. "Why does everyone keep saying that?" he said dully. "You shouldn't trust me, I get everything wrong."

"We all do," Josh said. "Somehow Amy still manages to make us better people. Ste got himself locked up, and look at him now."

"Thanks for bringing that up again," Ste said tartly. He turned back to Conrad. "Seriously, did you not notice that all those things you said about me are true about you too? You'd do anything for her, wouldn't you? And you practically worship the ground she walks on, just like both of us did. You'd never willingly do anything to hurt her, and that's all we need to trust in."

Conrad looked like he couldn't make up his mind whether to be pleased or terrified. "Help?" he asked in a very small voice.

"Always," Ste said reassuringly. He glanced in Mike's direction. "I'm not about to give up seeing Leah just because you're Amy's feller now."

Mike knew he was being baited, but he couldn't help but respond. "He is not 'Amy's feller'," he growled, "and if you think for one minute that you have anything to do with my granddaughter any more—"

"Dad!" Amy said sharply.

"You're not helping," Josh said firmly, sparing a glance at Conrad. The boy had shrunk into himself again, but right then Mike didn't care as long as he got the message that Amy was not to be messed with, no matter what Ste told him.

Ste apparently thought differently. "You want to watch that one," he confided to Conrad. "He had a go at me and Josh both for daring to go out with Amy, as if she couldn't make up her own mind."

"You're not helping either," Josh told him.

Mike had more to say, but young Mark beat him to it. "Does that mean they're going to have sex?" he asked.

"No," everyone chorused.

"You know we don't talk about sex in public unless it's really important," Amy said seriously.

As he watched Amy patiently deal with Mark's insistence that this was important, it finally struck Mike that she was in her element here. Emotionally battered as she was, she was being a mother in control of herself and her home, helping the ones who looked to her for support. Even Ste was doing as much, encouraging another badly damaged boy out of his shell. Of course being Ste he was encouraging him the wrong way, and it was probably all Josh's influence anyway, but Mike still had to admit that it was a more selfless thing than he'd ever expected to see from the tearaway. All of them were still teenagers, but they'd all grown up over the last couple of months.

Grown into adults. They were taking responsibility willingly, knowing what it meant. And there he was, the only nominal adult in the room, more concerned that his daughter might possibly have a new boyfriend than the boy concerned desperately needed help to recover from months of abuse. It was time he took his own responsibilities seriously, and that included admitting that his daughter was her own woman now.

"How about I get us some fish and chips for lunch?" he suggested once things quietened down again. It was only a small peace offering, but he was making it to all of them, the first time he'd willingly offered anything to Ste or Josh.

Amy glared at him. So did Ste, before he seemed to shame-facedly realise that he didn't get to speak for Amy any more.

"No," Mike said firmly before Amy could refuse, "today it's our turn to look after you, just this once. Mark could come with me and have a bit of a runaround."

"Outside?" Mark said dubiously, suddenly looking very unsure of himself.

"It's not so scary as all that," Mike told him kindly.

"Can Conrad come? And Amy? And—"

"I think Amy and Conrad could do with some quiet time after everything that's happened, don't you?" Mike said as gently as he could. "But Josh could come with us if you like, and we can stop off at the shop for some sweets." He could probably manage not to have a fight with Josh for half an hour. Probably.

"What are you up to?" Ste asked suspiciously, as an excited Mark turned and asked Amy if he could go.

"Winding him up, filling him with sugar, and then dumping him on us," Amy said cynically, not answering Mark yet.

"Granddad's prerogative," Mike told her with a wink. "It's about time I took my duties seriously, especially since you seem to have decided to land me with a brand new grandson." He smiled at Mark, to the evident confusion of the others.

"You're alright with all this?" Josh asked.

"Not really," Mike admitted. "I still think Amy's making the wrong decision, but she's not going to change her mind. No parent ever wants their kids to grow up and leave home, but you are growing up, all of you, and it's time I admitted it. Besides, it's nearly Christmas."

"What's Christmas?" Mark asked.

"Ah, now that's a long story," Mike said. "How about I tell you on the way to the chippie?"

It was funny, Mike thought as he got the youngster dressed for outside. He'd expected the look of disbelief on Ste's face, and it had made the admission that Ste wasn't perhaps a total waste of space taste less bitter. But when Ste and Josh both looked at Amy and smiled — real smiles of happiness for Amy, not themselves — Mike felt the warm feeling of something done right. He hadn't expected to see that look from Josh Ashworth, and he'd have put money on never seeing it from Ste Hay.

Damn, he was going to have to do a Christmas card for them after all.


End file.
